


Origins

by LadyMarianne123



Category: Dominion (TV), Legion (2010)
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-10 11:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMarianne123/pseuds/LadyMarianne123
Summary: Once upon a time - a little girl found her destiny with a unique family.





	1. First meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Characters will eventually end up in a story in the Dominion / Legion / Lucifer timeline. The Uriel of this story is male (not female) but is meant to represent the Uriel of the Dominion story.

She looked down the damp, dark alley way with a jaundiced eye. Miry hadn’t been on the streets long – six months or thereabouts - but she had learned quickly how to take care of herself in this unfriendly environment. A slender seven years old, she was tall for her age, and far too pretty for life on the streets of London in the nineteenth century. But life here was better than locked behind convent walls, pretending to be something she wasn’t. The sisters at the convent school had said she was an old soul in a young body – too bright for the meager school work the nun’s parceled out to the orphans and charity students they looked after. So doing what she had done had, at the time, seemed to make more sense than returning to her cloistered life. 

It has started out as such a grand adventure – seeing if she could sneak away from Sister Bonaventure during a school outing and not be found before the coach bearing them into the city left. What she hadn’t counted on was that the elderly sister was on the edge of dementia on a good day and hadn’t bothered to count her orphan girls as they climbed back on their conveyance. Most of the other girls hadn’t bothered to point out to the nun that she was one student short as they weren’t all that fond of the almost eerily quiet young girl from the southern states of America. Most were English girls, with English sensibilities and a habit of looking down their noses at anyone “different” from themselves. Miry was too serious, too tomboyish, not ‘girly’ enough, which made her a target for both the students and the sisters. On top of that she was a foreigner with an indistinguishable accent and no real reason for why her family had chosen to send her across the ocean to this school rather than leave her in the care of one of the churches in New Orleans, where her family had come from. The coach had been gone for nearly an hour before Miry realized it wasn’t coming back anytime soon. “Oh good!” she thought gleefully. “No listening to the sister’s pray tonight. Fun!”

Only it wasn’t so much fun when the sun went down and it got cold. New Orleans wasn’t this cold – but then she had never really been out on the city streets after the sun had gone down either. It was no fun when there was no place to get food (Sister Bonaventure hadn’t allowed them to take much pocket change for fear they would spend it on something unacceptable – like candy). No place to creep in to for the night. And far too many adults looking at her with that peculiar expression she had seen only on the gardener who had been dismissed from the convent for being ‘too friendly’ with Sister Rose. It didn’t help that there were other children in the shadows of the city with her. Most of them were too old for their years and too willing to bully or terrorize a younger child out of whatever they had because they themselves had so little. Most stayed away from the new girl – they found out rapidly she was stronger than she looked and not likely to be intimidated. 

“I suppose I could just duck into a church and ask the priest to ring up the convent school for me” she sighed, squatting forlornly in the alleyway, watching the dirty snow melt around her her now not so pristine uniform skirt. “Sister will be furious and I’ll never see the light of day again. Maybe I can tough it out for just a little longer and see where this adventure takes me.”

A little longer turned from hours to days to eventually weeks. Weeks where the girl learned how to find food and a warm place to sleep. Time where she learned how to run errands for shopkeepers for cash, and how to keep that cash from being taken away from her. Time where she also learned what some of the older girls were willing to do for food and shelter. She wasn’t quite sure what that was all about but had a feeling that it wasn’t something she would do yet. Maybe she just wasn’t hungry enough yet. 

The sudden sound of angry voices from deep in the alley alerted her to the fact she wasn’t alone anymore. Arguments were a common occurrence in these dark alleys, paths between the well-lit streets of London and its seamier underbelly. But there was something about the voices – and the light – coming from that dark corner that intrigued her. Carefully she crept closer to the sounds, sticking to the shadows where she could. There, against the alley’s dead end were two men, one tall, dark grey hair and elegantly dressed holding a cane, with an odd accent like Father Radu who had come to the diocese from Romania. The other was shorter and dirtier, looking like one of the street thugs she had learned to avoid. The two men were arguing – though it looked like the casually dressed man was doing most of the shouting. The well-dressed man, who towered over his opponent, seemed to find the whole situation amusing at best. There was something about this person – a golden glow she had noticed on others though not as bright as on this man – that seemed familiar to her though she couldn’t remember why. The other man seemed darker, dirtier, and not so attractive and his light was dark and forbidding, a light she instantly disliked.

“I don’t know what she promised you, Riley” the old man said, holding his cane between his hands as he looked down at his opponent. “But I promise you this. My house will not allow you to continue to prey on the children of this city for your own personal pleasure. I will make it my mission to ensure you pay for your violation of innocent minds and bodies if it is the last thing I do – no matter what my sister says.”

“She said you would get on your high horse about this, warlord. So she sent me with a message for you.” Miry watched, wide eyed, as the dirty man pulled a pouch from his pocket and suddenly blew the contents in his companions face, muttering words in a language she felt she should recognize but didn’t. The big man gasped, gripping at his throat as he backed away, his cane falling from his hand.

“Now, Master” the dirty man muttered “now I will finally have what is mine. Your money, your lands, your power – it will all be…” He never got the chance to finish that statement. 

Miry darted out of the shadows, remembering what the old black man, a former slave now a free man of color in the French Quarter, had told her about how even a child could find the strength to protect themselves if they just knew where to strike. She moved quickly, grabbing up the old man’s cane as she ran and swung it with as much force as a little girl could muster - right at the other man’s knees. He fell with a howl, screaming as the child took another swing at his kneecap, effectively crippling him. “Come on” the child said, looking back at the still chocking individual. “We have to go!” 

“No” the man coughed, trying to hold himself up on the brick wall behind him. He waved her away, pulling his cane from her hands. “Run child! Run, before he rises and harms you.”

“I won’t” Miry said, stubbornly. “He tricked you, it wasn’t a fair fight. You have to go – I can keep him down. I’ve done that with people like him before.”

The man smiled briefly, impressed with the child’s fierceness in the face of danger. Then he sank to his knees as a fit of coughing overtook him. “Go – find my son. He can help you.”

“FATHER!” a deep voice echoed through the alley, rattling the dust and dirt off the walls. 

“Here, fiul meu, my son!” the older man doubled over, wheezing, as though he could not catch his breath. 

The other man dragged himself up, staring fearfully down the alley. “No! He cannot be here! She swore…” It would be the last thing he said in his lifetime.

A burst of flame roared down the alleyway, hitting the dirty man square in the chest. Miry dove behind the older man, closing her eyes tightly against the heat and light. He spun as quickly as he could, cradling her against him, his back to the heat as he shielded her from the flames and the sight of his assailant becoming a living torch. The screams of the fire’s victim echoed all around. “Cover your ears, child” he murmured, wrapping his long arms around her slender form. 

Miry buried her face in the center of the older man’s chest, shaking. She had seen ugly things in the short time she had lived on the street but fire suddenly flowing down an alley towards its victim had never even been something she considered. “What did that?” she whispered. “Is it a Dragón?”

The man smiled, still coughing. “In a way, child. In a way. A very good fire breather. One you can trust.”

“Father?” a voice, now much closer, called out.

“Here, my son, we are here.” The old man tried to rise, leaning heavily on his cane. Miry stood as close as she could, trying to help as well, but whatever he had inhaled was still affecting him. He crumpled to his knees again with a groan.

Miry looked at the entrance to the alley, averting her eyes from the pile of ash and blood that had once been a man. Two older boys darted into the space, both avoiding the pile with care. The young men were ... different from other’s Miry had seen prowling the alleys, looking for “entertainment”. They were not so old as the man beside her but not so young as the boys she had seen at some of the flop houses the street kids gathered at. Both were handsome, well-dressed men, clean-shaven with brownish/blond hair and blue eyes. To her young eyes they were both so tall they were almost giants. And both of them had that glow – like the old man beside her – a light that seemed to cover them like a cloak. The taller of the two had the brightest light, an almost golden hue Miry had never seen on another person. His companion’s light was tinged in red/gold waves, like a sheet of fire wrapped around him. She remembered that Mother Superior had once commented that Miry had the old eyes in a young body. That was what these two boys looked like to the little girl. Not like the teenage boys who tried to bully the younger ones out of what little the street kids had but old souls come to save the day. One knelt beside her new friend, pushing his grey hair out of his face with concern. “Father? What did he do?”

“He blew some sort of powder into his face so he couldn’t breathe” she said, looking up at the other boy with a frown. “He started coughing and now he can’t get up. Can you help him?”

The other boy looked down at her with a smile. “He’ll be fine” he reassured her. “The Lord will see to that. He protects those who guard innocents.”

“Well he’d better get on with it” Miry said pertly, her fear turning to anger at a God who was obviously not doing his job. “Because there is someone else who sent that other man to do this and she’s just as bad as he is.” She darted around the surprised boy and started running down the alleyway, hoping to make it into the shadows before either of them could react.


	2. Hours later

“Have you found her yet?” the old man asked, tapping one finger impatiently on his desk. 

It had taken the old warlord’s son and companion several hours to return him to his home and find a remedy for the “corpse dust” – as his physic had called it, that had been used against him. The old man’s powers of healing were far greater than most and the coughing and weakness had dissipated within a few minutes of taking the healing draught. What had not disappeared was his irritated insistence that someone – specifically his son – find that little girl who had saved him. Now he sat in his study, wearing his dark robes with a glass of wine at his fingertips. That he was displeased with the world was obvious to all who looked into his bright dark eyes.

His guard, a burly Englishman of indeterminate age and education, looked nervously down at his employer. The old man was sitting at his giant desk as though he were behind a throne, with several gypsy guards milling around behind him. “Not yet sir, but…”

“I wasn’t talking to you” Vlad replied curtly. He leaned over and whispered in the ear of one of the rougher of the Romany who were waiting on him. The man, a giant in rough, dockworker clothing and a cloth cap, nodded vigorously and shot out the door, nearly knocking his master’s son off his feet as he entered. The old man’s guard also bowed his way out, casting a frightened look at his young master as he did so. “Damien? Any news you want me to hear?”

Damien sighed. “We found your half-sister and her sons. She admitted they had sent that necromancer to destroy you with hopes that she could claim your assets. It seems she honestly thought I wouldn’t raise a hand to her or to them because of our blood connection. She’s seen the error of her assumptions and her sons will no longer trouble us.” The young man stood stiffly in front of his father’s desk, aware that news was not what his father was asking about.

“And the child?” his father asked coldly. “Have you any news I want to hear about her?”

“No” Damien admitted, clenching his hands behind his back. “Uriel is still looking…”

“While I’m sure having an Archangel of God looking for my erstwhile rescuer is a good thing, my son, I assigned the search to YOU. I expect you to find her and bring her here, to this house, where she can be properly thanked for her actions.”

Damien raised one eyebrow at his father’s statement. “Why do I think there is more to this than you wishing to thank a street urchin for intervening in an assault?”

His father sighed in exasperation. “While I am thankful Uriel is teaching you how to be a good ruler over our people it would be HELPFUL if he taught you to be observant as well. That street urchin, as you called her, is Fae blood. She practically lit up the alleyway with her inner light – and yet neither of the two of you appeared to see it.”

Damien smiled thinly. “It makes sense now why Uri was so anxious to search for her himself. He wanted to make sure she was one of our blood – and make sure it would be a wise thing to bring her to you.”

“Are you suggesting I have ulterior motives in wanting this child found?” 

Damien leaned across his father’s desk, blue eyes locked on his father’s dark one. “I love and honor you father but I am not blind to your ambitions for me. Somehow you think this child is “special”, perhaps even key to your plans to return to the Sidhe. Perhaps she is – but I have seen far too many Fae children pulled apart by you and your half-sister’s wars to allow that little one to become just another victim. She saved your life, old man, and for that I willingly thank her. I would not lose you for anything in this earth but neither will I allow you to…”

“To what? To offer shelter to one of our own? I am beginning to think your angelic companion has filled your head with stories about what lengths I would go to in order to return to our realm.”

Suddenly, the door behind Damien slammed open and Uriel, The Light and Wisdom of God, appeared, dressed in his Heavenly robes. “That’s enough, Vladimir” he growled at the old man, marching into the study to stand behind his companion. “I found her but she will not come to me. What she has seen of men in those alleys has made her wary of trusting.”

“And yet” Vladimir replied with a small smile “she was willing to dart out of the shadows to help protect an old man from his assailant. Brave yet sensible – a good combination in a young princess.”

“Princess?” Damien asked quizzically.

“Yes – what else would your sister be but a princess?” the old man purred, a smile on his face. “I’ve always wanted a girl child in this house. Now all that needs to happen is for the two of you to go out there and convince her that it is in her best interests to return with you so that it can be as I wish.”

“I won’t” Damien fumed. “I won’t lie to this child. I won’t offer her something then take it away when she proves to be NOT what you think she is.”

“Damien” Uriel whispered, laying his hand on his friend’s arm. “She’s just a baby and on those streets – she won’t remain innocent long. Even if your father finds she is not what he wants at least here we can ensure she’s fed, clothed and if need be, find a good and loving home for her. I’m willing to go that far with this search – if you are.”

Damien sighed, glad of his angelic companion’s soft heart yet fearful of what that heart would lead them into. “Fine. Let me try to talk her out.” He turned on his heel and strode out, Uriel following close behind him. 

Vladimir smiled, knowing that his son’s gentle soul, buried under all the years of battle and war his father had thrown him into, would win out in the end. He reached into his desk and pulled out a cloth sack, turning it out to reveal the delicate locket hidden within it. “I’ll have my princess back in this house” he whispered to himself, gently turning the necklace over and over in his rough hands. “Not my murderous sister nor God himself will keep me from having my little angel back in my arms again.” He popped open the locked and let the small strand of baby fine hair, dark as midnight, fall out onto the desk. He stared for a moment at this memory of a place and a time that should never have been – then waved a finger and set the memory on fire, watching it burn with satisfaction.


	3. Later that night

Gabriel waited for his younger brother and Uriel’s Chosen one to appear, leaning against the brick wall of one of the less squalid rows of shops in the East End of London. This was NOT where he wanted to be right now - not with his son trying his hardest to get himself broken in two by the latest in a series of master of the Martial Arts that the boy had sought out to teach him how to defend himself. Although boy was somewhat of a relative term when describing Gabriel’s Chosen. The brawny young Dragón, a mix of Fae blood and some random angelic line was over a hundred years old, stood a good four inches taller than his father’s mortal form and was in a heavier weight class than his father. Gabriel had never been sure which Fae bloodline the boy descended from – or which Watcher had managed to keep his Nephilim alive long enough to pass his traits down to his son. None of had mattered as the young one belonged to Gabriel now and the Archangel would do what it took to watch over him and keep him safe, even if it was turning into something of a complicated process. The boy’s longevity had kicked in at the same time as puberty, over fifty years ago, making that transition into adulthood even more fraught with angst than normal. “Now there was a nightmare” Gabriel mused, watching assorted mortals skitter around him fearfully, unnerved by his almost predatory stillness. “Voice changed and his life span increased to infinity, all in one night. Please Father – give me strength.” He smiled fondly at the memory, knowing that no matter how difficult the time had been, he and his child had come out of it still together, stronger in their bond then before. Now, if he could only find…  
“Brother!” Uriel’s delighted voice echoed across the street. Gabriel’s younger sibling almost bounced across the busy street, his delight in seeing his usually absent brother shining in his blue eyes. Behind him, his Chosen One rolled his eyes at his companion’s reaction to seeing his sibling, having to run to keep up with the taller angel. “It’s been ages!”

“Not that long” Gabriel protested, a wave of guilt coming over him. It probably had been too long since he had returned to the Silver City and stood before the Father’s throne with his brothers. Being a father-figure to a young immortal had taken up much of his time of late. And there was always the nagging suspicion that God might decide to find a Higher Purpose for Gabriel’s son – something he hoped to avoid for as long as he could. “So – tell me why you needed my help?”

“Uriel thinks you can help us catch a little runaway girl we’ve managed to lose in this warren of alleyways. It seems he thinks you might not be so frightening to her as we are.” Damien’s sarcastic tone grated on Gabriel’s nerves. The young Phoenix was almost as arrogant as his father, and that was saying something. It didn’t help that both the warlord and his son were of a similar mix to his own son – Fae and angelic.

“And WHY, little brother, would you think that?” Gabriel asked, suspiciously. “After all, you and your companion have been together for almost two hundred years. Surely you remember how to deal with a young human. After all, you dealt with HIM during his formative years.” He gave Damien a cursory once-over before glaring back at his younger brother. 

“Yes but this is different” Uriel explained, earnestly. “I – well that is WE – think this child is an orphan and has no one to trust. She’s been on the streets of London for a while and she’s … well she’s a little wary of anyone coming close to her. Though it didn’t stop her from going to Vlad’s defense last night when he was attacked.”

Gabriel raised one eyebrow. “She went to the defense of the old warlord? How old is this waif?”

Damien shrugged. “She’s small but then everyone seems small to me. I have no idea how to guess her age.”

Uriel frowned. “I would say no more than seven years. But she’s Fae blood so that might be off by any number. She may not be pure blooded but her aura is intense like that of the high Fae. Maybe she’s one of their orphans?”  
“Fae blood?” Gabriel questioned, suddenly interested. His son’s Fae blood fed the aura which surrounded him with a light so intense he had attracted a Dragón spirit to him when he was barely out of his teens. “Is she branded as my son and your companion are?”

“Wish we could tell you that” Damien replied, his eyes moving up and down the street, watching for what should not be there. “She won’t let us get close enough to see. Hence, Uriel’s suggestion we ask you to bring her out. Maybe you can use the power of your voice to…”

“If I will not use this power on my son why would you think I would do so with an innocent girl?” Gabriel growled, suddenly annoyed with his younger sibling. “This isn’t a parlor trick, Uri. It’s the voice of our Father and we both know what can happen to mortals unprepared to receive that message.”

“We’re not asking you to command the child to do something dark – we just want her to come out of whatever hole she’s hiding in” Damien replied, irked by the archangel’s response. He moved closer to Uriel in a show of support.

Uriel glanced between his brother and his Chosen with a frown. “Peace. If Gabriel doesn’t want to do this then fine – we’ll find another way to lure her out of the darkness. I just thought…” he said, looking straight at his elder brother “that you, having raised a Chosen one from infancy, might have a better idea on how to convince the little girl we mean her no harm.”  


Gabriel raised one eyebrow at his brother. “If you think that stroking my ego is going to lure me into this scheme, think again little brother. But I suppose this ONCE I might be inclined to help you – because if the child is HALF as stubborn as mine you’ll be standing outside the alleyway until next year waiting for her to come out.” He sighed and straightened, pulling on his long dark coat. “Fine – show me where she’s hidden and let me see what I can do.”

Uriel shot a triumphant smirk at his companion before leading the way into the dark alleys. Damien shook his head, his eyes bright with mirth. “Wonderful. Uri’s going to be so full of himself that he talked Gabriel into this he’ll be impossible to live with.” He followed closely behind the two angels, not seeing the dark figure that had been observing them from across the street. 

In the alley

Uriel pointed to a pile of crates and other debris with a sigh. “That’s where I think she’s gone to ground. I can just make out her glow under all that trash.”

Gabriel frowned. “An orphan you said?” he whispered, pulling his two companions to one side. “Are you sure? That glow is too intense to not belong to a child of the high Fae court.” And far too familiar, he thought to himself. It was bright even through the fog and through the garbage pilled over it, golden in hue – like his son’s. He wondered, briefly, what plan his Father was implementing now and whether he should be concerned.

“As far as we can tell – no one else is looking for her” Damien replied shortly. He stared intently into the wood pile, his eyes following the light he could see within it. 

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything” Gabriel protested. “They may not have realized she’s missing.”

“I think Sister knows I’m missing” a small voice called out from the wood. “She just doesn’t care.” 

Gabriel knelt in front of the voice’s location. “Maybe she doesn’t know your gone, little one. Maybe she’s searching for you even now.”  


“No – she knows I’m gone” the child’s voice replied sorrowfully. “She never much liked me anyway. Kept saying I was too strange because I didn’t want to do all the stupid things all the other girls did.”

“Like what?” Gabriel asked calmly, his eyes fixed on that one spot behind the garbage where he could see the little girl’s aura. It was shifting, gold to red to dark as her emotions shifted along with the conversation.

“Like sewing and learning to cook and clean. That’s so – boring! Boys don’t have to do that – why do I? I like to read” the child sniffled. “I like to run and pretend play with swords as if I were a Knight in King Arthur’s court. I’d like to ride a horse someday – but the convent can’t afford one.”

Damien’s heart lurched at her words. He loved to do all those things when he was her age and no one had judged him – because he was a boy and it was expected of him. How hard it must be for this wild creature to be forced into a box of someone else’s making when all she wanted was to run free. He knelt beside the Archangel, gravely staring into the wood. “I liked all those things too. It doesn’t make you strange just because you want to be free.”  


Her voice changed as she recognized the young man now kneeling in front of her hiding place. “You’re the old man’s son, aren’t you? The one who came to help when that nasty man…” she stopped, the memory of what had happened to the attacker causing her to shiver. The wood pile shook as well, dust floating towards the two being hunkered in front of it.  


Gabriel glared at the young prince beside him. “What did you do, boy?” he hissed. “She’s frightened!”

“I defended my father” Damien replied stiffly. “I’m sorry she had to see that but I didn’t see her standing there until it was too late.”

Gabriel growled angrily. “So that’s why you wanted my help! You knew she would be afraid when she heard your voice.”  


“I’m NOT afraid” the little voice protested.  


“Of course you’re not” Uriel encouraged soothingly. “You’re much to smart and brave for that.”

“I wish you would tell that to Sister.” 

Gabriel grinned at his little brother’s attempt at flattery. “Well – we can’t do that unless you come out and let us see who we are defending. How can we describe you to this “Sister” unless we can see you?”  


Silence. Then the trash bin moved slightly and a small, bedraggled creature crawled from it, futilely brushing at the tattered woolen coat it was wearing. Damien had been right – and wrong. She was small in comparison to him but still tall for the age Uriel guessed. Her long dark hair was pinned up in a very messy braid, with locks falling out of the knot and framing her dirty oval face. Her hazel eyes were still bright – and innocent – something Gabriel silently thanked his Father for. Whatever else the child had seen at least nothing of the horrors that children of the street endured had touched her yet. “So..” Gabriel drawled. “What do we call you?”  


The little girl rolled her eyes. “My name is Miriam. But everyone calls me Miry. What do I call you?” She looked at the kneeling archangel critically, her arms crossed across her chest.  


“Gabriel” the archangel replied, waiting to see her reaction and being slightly disappointed when there wasn’t one. 

“Are you going to take me back to the convent?” she asked.  
“Do you want to go back to the convent?” Gabriel replied with a winning smile, hoping to ease her into either Uriel’s or Damien’s grasp.  
She sighed. “If I WANTED to go back, I would have already GONE back” she explained with exaggerated patience.

Gabriel laughed. “She sounds just like my boy” he chuckled. “Same exasperated tone of voice when I say something he thinks is beyond stupid.”

“Not Stupid” Miry protested with a huff. “Just … well, dumb. I could have gone to the church around the corner and asked the minister there to send a note to the Sisters if I wanted to go back but I didn’t. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself so…” 

“Of that I have no doubt” Damien replied suddenly, a wry smile on his normally taciturn face. “But my father would very much like to thank you for helping him last night and I promised him I would find you so that he could. You don’t want me to go back on my promise to my father, do you?” He sat down on the grimy alley floor and looked eye to eye with the child, pouring as much reassurance as he could into his gaze.

Gabriel sat as well, wrapping his arms around his knees. “So, little Miry, it seems you have a few choices. Stay here - dive right back into your little nest and wait for us to go away –and this young man will have to admit to his father he couldn’t help bring you home to be properly thanked. That, I think, will be a grave disappointment to both parties. Or you can let him take you home, offer you a bath and a meal and allow his father to thank you properly for you actions. The choice is yours.” He smiled thoughtfully at the little girl, filing away how very much she reminded him of his son for another time.  


Miry frowned as she processed the dilemma. “If I want to come back here after I’ve seen your father – will you bring me back? Right to this very spot?”  


Damien whacked Uriel’s ankle before the kind-hearted angel could protest. “If that is what you want – I will bring you here myself. Promise!”  


Miry smiled. “All right. I guess it will be alright. I WAS worried about the old man – he didn’t seem to be getting better even after that nasty man…” she stopped, looking down and biting her lip.  


Damien slowly reached out a large hand to her. “Neither that creature nor any of his kind will hurt you. My father and I will see to that. Please – take my hand so that you can see I mean you no harm.”  


The little girl carefully reached out and touched the young man’s fingers, twining her own through his. “Maybe we should go now” she whispered, looking down the alleyway. “Before that man who followed you brings friends.”

Uriel glanced, wide-eyed , back at the entrance to the alley, catching sight of a dark figure darting quickly back out onto the street. “Damien?” he asked, hesitantly.  


Damien shrugged, angry that neither he nor Uriel had seen they were being followed. “No idea – but she’s right. We’d best be on our way. Gabriel, my thanks for your help. May I offer you a drink in the comfort of my father’s home in repayment?”  


Gabriel shook his head. “Not tonight. My boy is learning some new martial art and I need to be available in case things go wrong.” He smiled wryly. “I seriously doubt our Father would be pleased if my son breaks another of his teachers so soon after the swordmaster he skewered.” He rose, bowing slightly to the little girl in front of him. “I’m glad to have made your acquaintance, little girl. Perhaps I will see you again. I think you and my son would find each other quite companionable.” He started down the alley, stopping half-way to look back at the child standing beside Damien. “Damien, if I were you – I’d ask your old man why he’s so interested in this particular child. Vladimir is not a particularly soft-hearted soul. There must be an ulterior motive behind his interest. Best you prepare for that before you give her over to him.” The fog rose up around him and he was soon lost to their eyes.  


“I HATE when grown-ups say things like that” Miry said with a sigh. “They get angry when you don’t react like they thought you should because you never know what it was they meant to say in the first place.”  


Damien and Uriel shared an amused glance, both trying desperately not to laugh at the child’s serious expression. “Come along, little one” Damien purred, carefully holding her small hand in his. “Let’s go home.”


	4. Returning to home base

The coach ride back to the impressive townhome Damien and his father inhabited was quiet, with each of the inhabitants of the coach deep in their own thoughts. Miry stared out the coach window, seeing the dank and smelly streets disappear – giving way to more refined neighborhoods and streets. Uriel was also staring out of the coach, trying to remember all that he knew of the warlord’s past in order to determine what the refugee from the Fae realms was planning and how it involved Uriel’s charge and this innocent life. Damien’s eyes were riveted on the girl, a frown on his face. There was something about her, something so bloody familiar but every time he tried to pinpoint what it was that memory (if it was a memory) would elude him. 

“You’re staring at me” Miry’s childish voice broke through Damien’s reverie. 

“Sorry” he muttered, feeling a flush spread across his cheeks. “Didn’t realize I…”

“And now you’re blushing” the child replied calmly. 

“I am NOT blushing” Damien protested. “Uri – tell her!”

“Well, actually…” Uriel began, a wicked smile on his face. 

Miry giggled. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. I think it’s kind of cute when you blush.” She smiled, an innocent smile that warmed both the heart of both the young man and his angelic companion. 

Uriel grinned. “He is kind of cute when he blushes” the angel commented.

Damien rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage her” he snarled. 

“I seriously doubt it would take much to encourage her” Uriel shot back, trying valiantly not to laugh. 

“Who was that man in the alley?” Miry asked suddenly, pulling her legs up on the seat and hugging her knees. “The one who… got burned.” Her voice turned quiet, a note of fear running through her words.

“Don’t worry about him” Damien replied gruffly. He winced as she hugged her knees even tighter in response to his tone. He slid off his seat and knelt in front of the child. “I’m sorry, little one, I don’t mean to frighten you. I’m not used to speaking to someone so young and innocent.”

Miry shrugged, not raising her eyes. “That’s okay” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have asked. Sister says I’m impertinent, always asking questions and poking around where I don’t belong. She says a lady should be quiet and respectful and not be too inquisitive. Which I think is silly because how are you going to know anything if you don’t ask…”

Damien burst out laughing. “Good! You and I will get along well so long as you aren’t afraid to tell me when you think I’m silly. But mind you – I intend to do the same to you.” The coach pulled to a stop in front of the family’s fine town home, interrupting their conversation. Damien jumped out and lifted the little girl from the coach, giving her a quick hug to reassure her. 

“I’m getting you all dirty” she protested, brushing at his jacket. 

Uriel laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s come before his father in less than pristine condition.”

The door flew open and the tall, lanky figure of the Vladimir, Damien’s warlord father stalked from the house. “It’s about time you two…” He stopped, seeing the small figure standing close to his son. His gaunt face changed, a sad smile spreading across it. “So, you found her after all.” He glided over to the group and dropped to one knee, one hand over his heart. “I fear we were not properly introduced before. I am Vladimir Dragón and you are…”

“Miryam” she whispered.

“And your family name?” the old warlord asked solemnly. 

“Sealgair” she replied, uncertainly. “At least – that’s what Sister said it was. I’m not really sure…”

Vlad purred, taking the child’s small hand in his. “A pretty name for a princess.”

She cocked her head at his words, looking for all the world like a dusty little bird. “But I’m not a princess – I’m just Miry.”

“You saved my life, little one. So in my eyes you will always be a princess” the old man murmured. “Please come and be welcome in my house. I’m sure you’re hungry and my cook is quite good. And I’m sure you would like to clean up a little before you sit down for tea.” He rose and led the child by the hand into the house.

“What was that all about?” Damien growled, looking at Uriel in confusion. “He’s never been one to be over fond of children – even his own.”

“I don’t know – yet” Uriel replied, stepping back from his friend. “But I intend to find out.” He stepped into the suddenly rising fog and was gone from his friend’s sight in an instant, headed back for the Silver City and his archives.


	5. Getting ready for Dinner - and revelations

Damien watched in concern as his normally controlled father paced his library, waiting for the maids to bring the little girl down for dinner. He had introduced the child to the house staff, insisting that she would feel much more comfortable with a bath and fresh clothing before they sat at the table. Miry, suddenly mute, had appeared to have no objections, looking warily at both the servants and their Master. Damien wasn't sure if she was frightened by his father or merely surprised by her surrounding but she had not raised a fuss, something he knew would endear her to the warlord. Vlad handed her over to several young gypsy girls who worked as maidservants in the house with instructions (in Romanian) to wash and braid her long hair and dress her properly. The moment the child had been whisked out of sight by the nervous young maids the warlord had summoned his housekeeper Magda, a tall and forbidding gypsy woman who made even Damien nervous. "You've laid the table as I instructed?" he growled. "Everything in its place exactly as you were told?"

"Yes, Master" the woman had replied, glancing fearfully at her employer's son. "All is as you commanded."

"I hope you are right" the old warlord said, walking back to his desk. "for your sake." He dismissed the woman with a wave of his hand and returned to the book he had been reading before the coach had arrived.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, Father?" Damien asked, hesitantly. 

"If there were, I would have already spoken" Vlad replied, eyes still on his book. "If you are going to be in this room then do me the courtesy of sitting in silence until dinner." 

Damien frowned and, bowing to his parent, left the library heading straight for his own room - and hopefully a more informative talk with Uriel. As he passed one of the empty bedrooms near his own, he could hear Miry's voice as she tried to converse with the young maids to no effect. They spoke no English and she, obviously, spoke no Romanian. Damien stopped in the hall, wondering if that was why his father had entrusted the child to them instead of one of his English servants. The warlord was keeping secrets from everyone - even his own son. 

He hesitated in front of the door, one hand raised to knock when a harsh hiss from his own bedroom door startled him. "Damien!" Uriel's hurried called to him. "Quick, in here!" Uriel pulled his charge into the bedroom quickly, checking the hall furtively before he closed the door. He was back in his robes, his earthly garments strewn across the bedroom floor. "I was hoping to find you here.”

Damien rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Uri – you’re standing in my bedroom. Where else did you think I would be going in this mausoleum?"

“There is something we need to talk about.”

"Yes - about how you always leave a mess when you get out of the clothes I lend you when you visit me." Damien groused, picking up after his friend.

"Just leave that" Uriel replied, annoyed. "I found something that might explain your father's fixation on speaking to that little girl!"

Damien whirled on his friend, the clothes he had picked up finding their way back to the floor. "How? You only just left me an hour ago!"

"Time is irrelevant in Heaven" Uriel replied, slightly pompously. He blushed at the exasperated look his charge gave him and pulled a scroll from his robes. "I found this - it's a listing of the high Fae who were banished when the dark ones invaded the realm of Sidhe centuries before your grandfather or his grandfather were born. One of the names on that list is Sealgair the Hunter, master of the Dark Fae creatures who were supposed to guard the Black Gates."

"Supposed to?" Damien asked, staring down at the scroll with concern. 

"It is written that the Hunter died trying to lose the creatures who guarded the Gates against his land’s invaders. The Dark Ones - demon spawn from Hell - brought him down and tore him limb from limb before he could accomplish his task. The Dark Gates have remained shut ever since."

"Demon spawn?” Damien asked, one eyebrow cocked.

Uriel bit his lip nervously. “Lucifer was still trying to strike out against Heaven, even after the Fall. The Fae were created after the Angelic hosts and had lived peacefully between Heaven and the mortal real for eons. Some of the demons Lucifer created thought that destroying their beauty and power would be a way to strike at Heaven.” The angel shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject of the conversation. “It didn’t quite work the way they thought it would. The Fae were stronger than anticipated. They locked down their borders and trapped the dark ones in the realm with them, keeping them from spreading their horror to the mortal realm. Sadly, they couldn’t escape their attackers but neither could the demonic forces escape Sidhe.” He looked uncertainly at his charge. “We were not allowed to go to their aid but Father did promise one day a Chosen One would come to free them.” He looked away, hoping his long-time friend wouldn’t see the nagging worry that always surfaced when he thought of that promise, a promise he might have to sacrifice his beloved companion to redeem.

“Wait - my father and the rest of our old families are Fae blood. If these demon spawn overran the realm how did ANY of them escape? And what has this old legend have to do with a little girl lost in the streets of London?"

"The story goes that some of the high Fae took up arms against the hell beasts who overran their homes. But they also took the precaution of sending some of their young ones away to other realities in order to preserve their bloodlines. Your family and the family of the guardian of the gate sent their children to this reality centuries past hoping to keep them alive. Once here, though, they discovered that mortals saw their special talents as threats. They were no safer here than they had been in their own homes. That is why the Fae who inhabit this realm smother their gifts, to keep from attracting too much attention to themselves. The human world has too much of a history of destroying beings they found to be too different from themselves.”

“If they were so bloody talented – why didn’t they protect themselves better?” Damien fumed, picking through the scroll’s long list of family names. Many he recognized – old ones who had sworn allegiance to his father before Damien had been born. Some were strange to him, including one family whose only notation mentioned “Moon's heart” and something called the Priesthood. His own family had the notation "Phoenix heart" beside it, a nod to the spirit animal that had claimed Damien almost a century before as its own. 

“They tried, Damien, but they were not prepared for the darkness that the demon hordes brought with them. In the end, there were only children left” Uriel replied sadly. “They probably hadn’t come into their power yet. The adults took a stand at the gates to give the young ones the best chance of survival while others took them through to the place of concealment they had created. Most of the defenders at the gate died but their children survived. Your ancestor, the ancestor of Gabriel's son and Miry’s were some of the ones who lived. I suspect the children’s descendants have intermarried over the centuries and you all carry some of that high Fae bloodline – along with whatever angelic lineage has been included to create you.”

“All very interesting but has nothing to do with why my father is obsessing on this ONE child.” Damien frowned at the last listing on the scroll. “Uri – what’s this?”

Uriel looked over his companion’s shoulder at the line he was pointing at. “That’s your immediate family tree.”

Damien gave his angelic friend a sour look. “I can READ that, Uri, that’s not what I’m asking. Whose name is THIS?” He flicked a finger at an almost illegible name on a line near to his father’s.

Uriel squinted for a moment, looking blank. “I think that means she was your father’s sister, your aunt.”

Damien counted to ten, trying to control his annoyance. “Uri – I know all my father’s full siblings. He doesn’t HAVE any. He has an illegitimate half-sister, the one who hired that animal to try to kill him in the alley, and no other relations beside me. And besides which – this isn’t her name on this line – so who is it?”

Uriel looked uncomfortable, wishing now he hadn't tried to distract the young man with that particular story of the Fae. "Damien - maybe this is something you should ask your father."

Damien squinted at his friend, frowning at Uriel's sudden discomfort. "You know something, don't you? Something you don't want to tell me. Come on Uri - you know you can't lie your way out of this. Angels, especially you, are terrible liars."

Uriel hunched his shoulders, his face turning red. "Please don't ask me anymore" he pleaded, backing away slowly. "I shouldn't have brought that scroll to you in the first place but I thought maybe it would be a good place to start a conversation with your father."

Damien stared first at the scroll and then at his friend. "Fine! I'll bring it up to him at dinner. But one way or another Uri, I'm going to find out what you both are trying to keep from me." He shoved the scroll back at his friend then stormed back out to the hall, with his angel grabbing up the "human" clothes he had been wearing and making a quick change before he chased after him. Damien stopped suddenly and stood in front of the door where he had last heard the child's voice. Now all he could hear was the maid’s high pitched tones, sounding more and more agitated. "Bloody hell" he thought angrily. "Now what?" He yanked the door open just as Uriel caught up to him and strode inside with his angel trailing behind.

Inside the still chilly bedroom the two gypsy girls were searching frantically around the huge four-poster bed. A fire had not been lit in the fireplace and a mound of packages and clothing was strewn all around the room. The two girls were muttering to themselves as they looked around and under the bed. "How could she disappear so quickly?" one girl said as she straightened. 

"How indeed" Damien sneered, staring down at the disheveled servants with a forbidding glare, looking rather disconcertingly like his father. Uriel, stepping around his companion, caught sight of the glow emanating from the child hiding behind the heavy satin drapes, the same glow he had noticed in the alley when they retrieved her. He smiled in amusement and, touching Damien's arm, nodded towards the place the child was obviously trying not to be seen.

"Master we were only trying to get her dressed in this beautiful party dress your father bought for her" the older girl whined in her native tongue. "I turned to Lina and suddenly..." The girl lifted her hands and made a motion to show that the child had simply disappeared.

Damien glanced at the silk dress with a frown. It was typical of the era - more volume than needed, far too many petticoats for such a small child and, in his mind at least, a hideous color. "No fire in the fireplace and the two of you chasing the poor creature around like she was some sort of insect to be swatted. No wonder she’s hiding. OUT!" he growled, grabbing the maids by their arms and propelling them towards the door. "Get out and STAY OUT!" 

The sound of the slamming door seemed to embolden the young runaway. "They kept trying to make me put that thing on and I couldn't make them understand I didn't like it." Miry stepped out from behind the curtain, staying well away from both Uriel and Damien's grasp. Her long, dark hair was wet and tangled and she was clad only in her shift with no socks or shoes. She stood shivering from the chill in front of Damien, her arms crossed across her chest and a frown on her delicate face. "It's horrible. The petticoat is itchy, it has a corset that’s so tight I sure I won't be able to breathe or run around. I’ve NEVER worn a corset before – Madame Josephine said I was too young. And worse yet - it's pink. I HATE pink."

It was all the two men could do to keep from laughing. Damien lifted the dress from the bed, examined it seriously then tossed it over his shoulder. "Then you shouldn't wear it. Quite frankly - I don't like pink either. So, is there anything here you do like? Because I don't think you can come down to dinner in your underwear. And let’s see if there isn’t something you can wear right now while we look. I don’t think my father would be pleased to see you catch a cold."

Miry sighed. "I’m not THAT cold.” She motioned vaguely to what looked like a padded robe with a sniff. “I don't know, I guess I can wear that for now. But I don’t know what else is here for me to wear. They wouldn't let me see what was in the closet. I guess I can wear something in that pile over there - so long as it's not pink." 

Uriel plucked the robe from its pile and handed it to the child, careful not to spook her into trying to hide again. He reached onto the bed and found the ivory brush the maids had not had the chance to use on the child's unruly hair. "Why don't we let Damien pick something for you and I'll brush your hair? I won't pull it - I promise."

Miry shrugged. "Okay. They wanted to put my hair up in pin curls but that's the way babies wear their hair - and I'm NOT a baby." She struggled into the padded gown then marched up to the tall blond and looked up at him with a serious expression. Uriel sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor and motioned the child to sit in front of him. With a long-suffering sigh she sat as well, pulling her knees up to her chin with her back to her new hairdresser. The angel calmly and carefully started to run the brush through her silky hair, fighting back the thought of how like Damien's it was (except, of course, for the color). 

Damien grinned, seeing that his companion was falling hard for the little girl, something that didn't surprise him at all. His angel, for all he was an excellent teacher and companion for all of Damien's escapades, had always had something of a soft spot for children. Damien poked at the boxes someone had delivered to his father with a frown. "Someone has terrible taste in clothing" he thought, wondering where on Earth his father had found these assorted outfits. He stopped suddenly, finding a simple linen dress, a style more for an older child but would work for tonight. He found all the accessories of a young ladies wardrobe as well - stockings, shoes and even something to hold back her hair. He turned and presented the pile to the child with a flourish. "Better?"

Miry looked at the dress and smiled in relief. "Yes, thank your! That's just like the dress Madame Josephine use to wear when she was walking in the French Quarter. She was so kind to me when I was little." She examined the dress carefully, ignoring the grins from the two men at her declaration of great age.

"Was Madame Josephine your teacher when you were "little"?" Uri asked, scrambling to his feet.

"No - she lived in a house with lots of pretty octoroon girls and held parties for all the gentlemen who lived in the Garden District. She told me I could come one day when I was older but my auntie sent me away so I never did." She carefully gathered the clothing and darted behind a screen to dress. 

Damien's smile died at the look on Uriel's face. "What?"

"I hope she never finds out that the lady she so admires was probably running a house of ill-repute." Uriel replied solemnly. 

"I'm not sure which I'm more surprised by" Damien choked, trying not to laugh. "That you know about such places or that I've never been in that particular one with you." He grinned to see Uriel blush at his suggestion.

Soon the child stepped around the screen, her clothing carefully arranged and the pin Damien had found for her hair strategically tucked into her ponytail. “Do I look alright?” she asked, anxiously. “I don’t want your father to be mad because I wouldn’t wear that other dress. He kind of scares me.”

Damien knelt in front of her and examined the child carefully. “You look just fine. And, between you and me, he kind of scares me too. But I promise – he’ll be on his best behavior tonight. And if he does start to make you nervous Uriel can take you for a walk until you feel better. How’s that?” He held out his hand to her, reassuringly. 

Miry cocked her head and looked at him gravely. “Okay. If you say so.” She took his hand and looked up at Uriel. “Are you coming to dinner too?”

Uriel looked askance at his friend. “I haven’t been invited.”

Damien, rising to his feet and dusting off his knees chuckled slightly. “Never stopped you before.”

Miry looked up the other young man with a frown. “Don’t you want to stay?”

Uriel smiled gently down at her. “I’ll stay if you want me to.”

Miry smiled and held out her other hand. “Good – now I won’t be so nervous.” Her small fingers gripped his hand with surprising strength as the two men led their little guest out of the bedroom and down to the main dining room.


	6. Dinner and a story

Vladimir looked up as his son, his son’s angelic friend and their new housemate walked in, the two younger men holding the little girl’s hands. He wasn’t exactly sure who was keeping who from bolting but he smiled as he watched his son gallantly pull out a chair for the child, seating her on his father’s left with Uriel next to her. Damien ran a gentle hand over the child’s hair then took his seat at his father’s right. “I hope you are hungry, little one” the old man purred. “My cook has outdone herself tonight. She has made all your favorites.”

Miry looked up at the old warlord quizzically. “How would she know what I liked?”

Damien shot a look at Uriel then at his father. “Yes, how would cook know what the child would like?” he asked, his voice deepening as he challenged his father to ignore the question.

The old warlord did not choose to even look at his son or his companion. “Cook has children your age, little one. She knows what they would like and I agreed with her choices.”

Miry frowned slightly. “You’re telling a fib. I can always tell when someone lies.”

Damien held his breath, watching his father closely. The warlord didn’t take well to being called a liar from adults, much less children. His son had never confronted him before, not without suffering the consequences. Beside her, Uriel tensed, ready to snatch the child up out of her seat and go into the ether. “Miry” he warned, softly.

Vladimir squinted down at the child, frowning, waving off the Archangel’s warning. “Were you never told it is not polite to call a man a liar at his own table?”

“Didn’t someone teach you not to tell lies?” Miry fired back, eyes flashing in a suddenly pale face.

“Enough” Uriel said suddenly, power rippling from his voice. “You’re scaring her. I’ll take her from this house if you continue…”

“I’m NOT scared” Miry protested. 

Damien rose from his seat, ready to snatch the child away if needed, motioning his angel to follow his lead. “Father…”

The warlord ignored both his son’s and the angel’s voices, fixing his dark eyes on the child in front of him. The grim expression on his face faded to one of amused resignation. “No child, no one taught me not to lie. In fact, I was taught telling a good lie and being believed was a virtue to be treasured. Of course, they were wrong. So I make you this bargain – I will not lie to you if you will not lie to me. Agreed?”

Miry looked at him for a moment. “So if I ask you a question, you have to answer it truthfully?”

The warlord nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yes – that is correct.”

The little girl thought for a moment. “Can you tell me why you wanted Damien to bring me here? I don’t know you – but I kind of do, like you are a character in one of the stories my father and Madame Josephine use to tell me. I can’t explain it but I feel like I should know you. Why?”

Vlad sighed. “Child, there are things about your past you do not know. Things I am sure your parents would have told you about later when you were older…”

“My mother died when I was born.” Miry said mournfully. “My father died when I was little, trying to protect Madame Marie and some of her friends from the bad men.”

“Madame Marie?” Damien asked quietly, looking at Uriel who was trying to hide the horrified look on his face. 

“Madame Marie” Miry repeated. “She was a very clever woman, a friend to both my parents. The people of the Quarter went to her for help with problems and illnesses. Madame Josephine said people thought it strange that my parents, who lived in the Garden District, had friends in the Quarter. She said they were different from everyone else in father’s family – and that was why the poor folks of the city liked them.”

“What else do you know of either of them?” Vlad asked quietly, motioning his son to return to his seat. Damien sank back into his chair, still prepared to put this conversation to an end if devolved into a quarrel again. “Did your father ever speak of your mother’s family? Or of the history of his own?”

“No. Madame Josephine said my mother was a foundling, left at the church door when she was a baby.” Miry said softly. “My father’s family took her in because they thought she was a distant relation and educated her.I don’t think that they much liked her though. My Auntie said she must have been the spawn of Satan because she could make things happen no one else could. I don’t understand all of it – I know my father could do things too, find lost things, cure simple maladies, but never as much as they say my mother could.” She sniffed slightly, twinning her long braid between her fingers. “Madame Josephine said that the reason my Auntie wanted me gone was that my father had said I would be just like my mother – and she didn’t want another spawn of Hell in her house, encouraging her own children to do bad things.” She raised glistening eyes to the old man seated in front of her. “But I’m not bad! I’m NOT! I’m just…”

“Different” Vlad said quietly. “Defiant. Like your mother was. Like I and my son are. You are different, little one, and different is not bad. Forgive me – I should not have lied to you even if it was over such a minor thing as the food we will eat. Trust cannot be built on a bed of lies. And I would like very much for you to trust me.” He held out his hand to the child, palm up. “Will you forgive me?”

Damien’s eyes widened as he watched this odd tableau unfold. His father had NEVER asked for forgiveness from anyone – much less an orphan child he had just met. He glared over at Uriel, who was staring at the table intensely, trying not crush the scroll he had hidden in his jacket pocket. “Perhaps we are all over tired and too sensitive tonight. Little one, will you have dinner with us and let my father and I give you shelter until you decide whether you wish to return to your place in the alley?”

Miry solemnly looked between the old man and his son. “Well – I am hungry. And you are probably still not well from that powder that bad man threw at you.” She looked at the table and shrugged.

Vlad smiled “And when dinner is over I will show you my library. I’m sure you will find the books there quite interesting. You know how to read, don’t you?”

Miry gave him an exasperated glare. “Of COURSE I can read. I’m not a baby!”

The men laughed at her all too serious expression of outrage and with that settled in for dinner. Damien noticed, with approval, that his father was right – the cook had made all the little girl’s favorite dishes (and many of his own). As the meal progressed, however, he began to notice a trend. Miry and his father both seemed to have similar taste in food, even desert, a dish which was not a usual addition to the evening meal. Both seemed to gravitate towards a simpler foods: fish, bread and cheese and fruit dishs (though he did notice the little girl taking a few quick and satisfied bites of cook’s famous chocolate cake). Damien and his father had never shared many similarities (other than height and intellect), so watching his father and this little orphan girl solemnly debate the virtues of one dish over another was amusing and enlightening at the same time. 

“Are you enjoying your dinner?” Vlad asked, noticing the child ate as though she had not had a proper meal in days. 

Miry nodded, laying her napkin back in her lap. She hadn’t MEANT to eat so much but it had been AGES since she had food in any quantity. Even in the convent school the younger children were given only enough to get by and no more, the sisters fearing that if they indulged the little ones they would grow too fond of worldly things. “It was very good. Thank you for inviting me.”

Damien bit back a smile at the child’s almost too formal response. “You are very welcome. Now, perhaps you would like me to take you into the library?”

“I will show her the treasures of our house, my son. I’m sure you and Uriel have SOMETHING better to do than spend the night visiting with an old man.” Vlad rose stiffly, reaching for his cane, which had been propped up by the table. Miry hopped out of her seat swiftly, ready to see her new friend’s collection of books. 

Uriel gestured towards the door, rising swiftly in retreat. “Yes – Damien and I have something we need to discuss. With your permission…”

Vlad waved both young me off, taking the child’s hand and gently leading her out into the corridor, heading for the library door. “By all means. I’m sure Miry and I can entertain ourselves for a while.” 

Damien stood in the hall, watching his father disappear into his sanctuary with a frown. “What was that all about? I’ve seen him disembowel men for merely insinuating he was being less than candid and yet that little girl…”

“She already has him already wrapped around her finger, just like she does you. Just like she does me. And there is a reason for his attention to her, Damien, a reason you MUST make him tell you before this goes any further.” Uriel watched his friend’s face anxiously. “It is important…”

‘Then YOU tell me” Damien replied in exasperation. “He has some scheme in mind and we both know I’ll only be told the bare bones of it when and if he needs me to act. Uri – you’ve been my friend and companion since my first memory. PLEASE!”

Uriel hung his head, pulling the scroll from his jacket. This was the warlord’s story – not his – to tell. Yet after all they had seen and done, the angel knew he would not, could not walk away from the young prince without telling him the story. “I had hoped he would say something during dinner but …”

“But I chose not to speak in front of the child” Vlad’s cold voice echoed through the corridor. “She has endured enough. Now that she’s settled with a book to entertain her, perhaps we can all three discuss this secret that your angelic friend was about to divulge – without my permission.”

Uriel ducked his head, wishing his brother Rafael were with him. The old man had NEVER approved of his son being marked for greater purpose – especially when he discovered that the archangel who would teach him was not a warrior like Michael but God’s Light, the most scholarly (and least combative) of the warrior brothers. Uriel had grown use to the old man’s cold politeness but tonight he feared his interference would bode ill for his beloved charge. “My apologies, Vladimir” he murmured. “I meant you no disrespect. I only thought your son had the right to know.”

“KNOW WHAT?” Damien hissed, long past the limit of his patience. He wedged himself unconsciously between Uriel and the warlord, taken up a protective stance in front of his friend. “What is it you don’t want me to know?”

“In the dining room” Vlad replied calmly. His long strides took him back to his chair in a flash, the other two following close behind. “Close the door, Uriel. Best she not hear this – not yet.” He stared morosely down the length of the table, gathering his thoughts. 

“Father?” 

Vlad blinked and looked back at his son. “Yes, yes. I’m trying to think where to begin. You know boy, some of our line are Fae born, long-lived, aged beyond the concept of mankind. Some even shared a blood line with the angelic choir your friend here had told you of – the Watchers. It has made some of us strong in our power over the natural world, strong even over mankind. Yet in other ways we are fragile beings. Your mother, for instance, was of a similar bloodline to myself and bore me the one and only son I was ever to have. Sadly she died the next morning, a loss I have mourned for many years. I have had many other lovers after her who have not seen fit to produce any more offspring for me. Not that I have not been eternally grateful for that lack. Most of my concubines have been mortal and half-breeds are hard enough to teach and live so few days that it’s hardly worth the trouble to become attached to them.” He looked up with a smile, noticing Uriel was trying to not to look at his friend. Damien also was looking anywhere but at his father. “Really boy, does the knowledge that I had relations with women other than your mother truly surprise you?”

“No” Damien said through gritted teeth. “I just had not expected to discuss my father’s sex life at our dinner table with Uriel at my side.”

Vladimir laughed. “For all your age, you two are still so innocent.” He leaned across the table and poured himself a drink from the wine carafe. “Now – where was I? Oh yes, your mother. She was the love of my life – yet there was another. A woman I had known when I was not much older than you are now. Her blood line not so pure as my own and my father was determined to keep us apart. It's possible, though not probable, that the woman might have been a child of my sister."

"I didn't know you had a full sister" Damien commented.

"Nor did I - not until it was too latge. She was born without gifts of magic so our father had her farmed out to a gypsy family in our employ. She died, giving birth to a girl child at the age of sixteen so her life was brief. She never even had the chance to discover if she, like you and I, would be a long-lived being or like mortal like the family she had been adopted by. her daughter grew into a beautiful, wild creature who made it a point to catch my eye when her caravan was near. My father, of course, forbade our relationship. Yet it was that fight to separate us that ultimately brought us together. One night…” He took a sip and sighed, remembering a moonlit grove, strange music playing from the hedgerows and a beautiful woman dancing only for him. “Needless to say, the next morning my father explained why this relationship was not possible and we tried to put it out of our heads. Unfortunately for both of us – within a few months it became obvious what our moment of weakness has created.”

“She was with child” Uriel said softly. 

“Hmmm, yes. And worse yet, my step-mother had discovered documents brought into this realm from our home that spoke of a blood sacrifice which must be made if the Black Gates were ever to be opened. That wench was a sadistic, power hungry witch. Many of the children who disappeared over the centuries, children supposedly taken by the fairy folk, probably died at her hand in her mad attempts to re-open the doors to our world.”

Damien shuddered. “That explains your actions after your father’s death. I never did understand why you banished her to some tiny little island in the middle of nowhere.”

“I did more than that, boy. I made sure certain “conditions” existed on the island so that she would NEVER be able to leave it – not even in death. Not that, in the long run, it helped matters much. My step-sister, as you well know, is as vicious as her mother – just not as stupid.”

Damien leaned back in his chair, his mind churning. “So – I have a half-sibling? Was it boy or girl?”

Vladimir shrugged. “Girl. Her mother named her Nimue after the Lady of the Lake. Her mother believed that giving her a royal name would somehow make her more valuable to my family. I didn’t find out until after the child was born. My former lover, Lisabetta, sent me a lock of the child’s hair and a drawing so that I would at least know what my daughter looked like.”

“Did you ever see the child?” Uriel asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes – a few times when her mother’s gypsy caravan came near our estates in Nottinghamshire. She was a sweet child, but wild as her mother had been. I tried to convince my father he should offer sanctuary to his granddaughter and her mother if for no other reason than to keep some other powerful family from trying to make use of the power they both might possess but he didn’t care to hear about it. As far as he was concerned, illegitimate offspring created from an incestious union were not salvageable and best left to die on the vine.”

“Glad now I never met him” Damien muttered.

“So am I” Vladimir agreed with a grim smile, his sharp, white teeth gleaming in the candlelight. “I would have had to choose between filial loyalty and love of my child. I fear he would NOT have been pleased with my choice.” He stared off into the distance as he continued his story. “At any rate, Lisabetta grew tired of playing this game and disappeared for longer and longer periods of time. I had heard nothing from her for years until the news of my engagement to your mother was made public, when she chose to appear at our engagement party. I was forced to tell your mother everything before my father’s wife could. Not a conversation I wanted to have with someone I was about to marry. Fortunately, your mother was a kind soul. She wanted us to find the child, who would have been about three, and offer her a home and protection from those who believed as my step-mother did. Sadly, we were too late. After our wedding I was told that the girl and her mother had died in a mysterious house fire.”

“Died?” Damien asked, suddenly suspicious. “Really?”

“So I thought. I had no reason to doubt the bearer of the news. I mourned the child more than the mother and when it became apparent your mother and I would, like so many others of our kind, not have children of our own the pain of the child’s loss became a constant ache that could and would be ignored in the rush of other things. But I always wondered what the child might have been like had she survived.”

“So what does this have to do with Miry?” Damien asked, suddenly sure his angelic companion had not only known this sad story but how it fit into the current situation. He stared at Uriel intently, wondering what other secrets his life-long companion was keeping from him. 

Uriel could feel Damien’s intense stare burning into him. “He’ll never trust me again” he thought miserably, wishing now he had just gone ahead and told the young prince what he knew as Rafael had suggested. But at the time he had thought it best Damien hear the story from his father. Now, he wasn’t so sure. The old man was holding something back and Uriel knew that Damien would expect his angelic guardian to fill in the blanks the moment they were alone, a task he wasn’t sure he was ready to take up.

Vladimir sighed, feeling the tension rising between the two young men at his side. He had originally been intrigued to discover Heaven’s interest in his only son, seeing it as an advantage in his quest to unite those of his “kind” that still lived in this mortal realm. But as the years had gone by he had grown wary of the Archangel’s almost obsessive desire to be close to his son, as a teacher and friend. It had made the warlord uneasy, wondering what the creature’s ulterior motive might be. “Glorious purpose” sounded wonderful on paper but the concept of his son being groomed to die was not something he could support – even as he taught the boy lessons on war and peace as part of his complex reality. “The child would have been in her teens when you were born. It was then that I heard rumors that her mother might have, in fact, hidden the child away before her own death to keep my step-mother from offering her up on the altar of her mad desires to open the Dark Gates. Once my father was gone – and his witch of a wife locked away – I tried to hunt down those rumors. All I found were stories, possibly of the mother leaving her child with friends who traveled to the Americas. I finally was able to find reputable witnesses who told me that Nimue had, in fact, survived long enough to become bonded to another of our race in Louisiana, one who had more of the Angelic bloodline than Fae. She died having a child who her mate abandoned on the steps of a church in New Orleans.”

“Miry’s mother” Damien whispered.

“Yes – my granddaughter. Now, by some twist of fate, her child, a daughter of my bloodline, is here and I can finally make right what my father so cruelly broke. I can care for my child, raise her to be a princess of our line, and see to it she wants for nothing.”

Uriel schooled his expression, keeping his suspicions to himself. Vladimir was NOT a sentimental man, despite what he might say to his son. There was something else, something he wasn’t telling his son, about why he was so determined to keep this little orphan close. “Will you tell her about her origin?”

The old man shook his head. “No and neither will the two of you. She’s too young to understand our “unique” origins and I will not have her frightened any more than she already has been. Tomorrow, Damien you will go into town, find this wretched school who let her slip away from them and make our position clear. She will be remaining with us indefinitely. Take one of our solicitors with you if need be. From what she has said, I doubt her family in New Orleans will care if someone take the child off their hands. And I sincerely doubt the Church will want their neglect splashed over every newspaper in the country.”

Damien nodded. “As you wish, Father. It shouldn’t be an issue. As you say – it’s in everyone’s best interests to make this situation go away.” He glanced back at Uriel with a frown. “One thing, though. When we went to retrieve her from that alley there was someone observing our actions, someone I suspect was not of the mortal authorities or some random street person. Your half-sister - is it possible she also has tracked this branch of our family back to this particular little girl?”

“Why did you not mention this before?” Vladimir snarled. “Were you followed from the city?”

“Not that I could see” Uriel responded soothingly. “But the child did notice we were being watched. She’s very observant.”

Vladimir rose from his seat suddenly. “See to the security of the house. I’ll see to our young guest. And the next time, boy, try to remember that not everyone is as devoted to your wellbeing as your angelic companion. Most people, even among our own kind, would slit your throat if it meant an advantage for them. This girl has already lost the ones who were meant to protect her. I will not allow her to lose more.” He stalked out of the dining room without another word.

Damien leaned his head on the table, wishing he had thought to speak sooner. “Wonderful. Now he thinks I’m incompetent.”

“He’s just concerned for the child” Uriel reassured, sounding a little shaky.

Damien looked up and smiled at his friend. “You’re blushing.”

“I am NOT! Angels don’t blush – especially not Archangels” Uriel protested.

“Uri, it’s okay” Damien said with a laugh. “My father is just in a mood to tear into both of us for what he sees as our mishandling of this situation. You’re my best friend and I don’t know what I’d do without you to talk to. That’s not a bad thing no matter what he believes. So, that being said – let’s go deal with setting up guards around the house.” He rose and motioned for his friend to follow, trotting down the hall towards the front door.

“Damien, wait!” Uriel whispered, coming to a stop in front of the library. He motioned for his friend to join him then pointed through the half open door. Inside, the warlord was seated in his favorite leather chair with the limp form of a sleeping child curled in his lap. The old man was quietly reading to her in the language of the Fae, an old story Damien remembered his father reading to HIM when he had been that age. “I remember when you were younger, he would do the same for you” Uriel mused, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“And then I grew up – and things changed” Damien sighed.

“Not between us” Uriel protested.

Damien smiled. “No – never between us. We’ll always be brothers no matter what my father says. Now come on – this place won’t guard itself.” He started back down the hall, his angelic companion at his back with just the shadow of the Archangel’s wings flowing behind them.


	7. Later that night - pt. 2

Damien stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom, listening intently for any unusual sounds outside his door. The silence was almost deafening. He’d been staring at the ceiling for hours, willing sleep to come to no avail. He sighed, remembering Uriel’s desire to stay. “But you might need me!” 

Damien shook his head. “Uriel, if I can’t hold off a simple burglar without your help then I’m not much of a fighter. Go home. We’ll speak again later.” He had ruffled Uriel’s blond hair, more to annoy (and comfort) him and sent the angel on his way. He’d spent the rest of the night poking around the old mansion, checking doors and windows and talking to the Romani guards he had posted at strategic locations. His father had finally ordered him to bed, insisting that he would be of no use to anyone if he were asleep on his feet. But sleep had refused to come. Now, all he could do was stare into the darkness, his mind racing with possibilities. The thought that this child might be descended from his own father, from a “tryst” undertaken before his own mother had entered the picture disturbed him. The older families believed in arranged marriages to keep the bloodline as “pure” as possible while sowing their seeds among the mortal population without thought or care what would happen to the half-breeds that resulted from encounters. His own family was not considered “pure” as there was a strain of angelic blood (something neither his father nor Uriel had ever been able or willing to explain) floating through the generations. His mother’s family also had this unusual addition to their bloodline – which had made his parent’s marriage as much a marriage of convenience as anything else. Though his grandfather had been universally feared among their kind, the beliefs of pure blood had been stronger than the ruling families’ desire for power. This child would not be accepted by the elders of their community because of her own “tainted” blood. Their loss. 

With a sigh, Damien rose from his bed, pulled on his robe and started out of his room, hoping to sneak past his father’s door and into the library for something to occupy his mind. He stopped for a moment in front of Miry’s room, listening for any sounds that she was in distress. “I should just check” he mused, gently easing the door open. 

The room was dark, with all the curtains pulled and the remnants of the fire he had insisted on having laid glowing embers in the hearth. Not that it mattered to the young man as his eyes were as keen in the dark as in the light. Keen enough to see there was a lump on the bed that seemed – odd. He walked softly up to it and stopped, seeing a pile of pillows that had been stuffed under the blanket to form something vaguely like a body. He looked around quickly, searching for the light that had led them to the child the last time she had bolted. There was nothing behind the curtains or behind the other furniture but as he turned he noticed something emanating from under the bed itself. He knelt beside it and looked down – right into the wide eyes of the still wakeful Miry.

He smiled. “I used to climb under my bed when I was younger too – especially when the storms howled outside. It always seemed a good idea to be closer to the ground so that I could run if necessary.” He slid carefully under the high bed, coming as close as the child would allow him. “Hmmm… I can see I’m going to have to talk to the maids. They obviously don’t do much of a job cleaning under here.” 

Miry smiled. “I woke up and didn’t know where I was so I hid. In the alley, you always have to be aware of where you are or people will come and take your things.”

“Very smart move. Always best to hide until you know what is happening around you.” He sneezed suddenly, the dust tickling his nose. “But now that you know where you are, maybe we should find somewhere else to be – at least until I can get the servants to sweep under here?”

Miry giggled. “Okay. It is kind of dusty down here anyway.” 

He smiled and rolled out, holding out a hand once on his feet to help her up, then swept her up in his arms and tucked into bed. “There, that’s better. Cleaner at any rate.”

She curled up under the blanket and blinked up at him. “Will you stay with me for a while? I don’t usually mind the dark but…”

Damien nodded, understandingly, then crawled in beside her, smoothing her hair out of her eyes. “There, see? The dark won’t hurt you so long as I’m here with you. Close those pretty eyes and morning will be here before you know it.”

She did as she was told, closing her eyes and scooting up close to be enveloped in a warm hug as she drifted off to sleep. Damien watched her for a while, until his own eyes slowly closed as well, sending him off to a dreamless sleep.


	8. Next morning

Vladimir straightened his jacket and reached for his walking stick, mentally cursing the fact that he still needed its support. Today, he would send his son to the city to deal with the mortal authorities and arrange for the child to be put in his care. While the boy was gone, he would contact the ruling families and lay down his claim to the girl – and make certain they understood what he would do to anyone (even a blood relation) who tried to take her from him. “At least her mother and grandmother had the good sense to find partners with high Fae blood to mate with” he thought, strolling out of his bedroom. “The girl is stronger than she looks, probably stronger than she knows. With a little help from Damien’s angelic watchdog she might just grow up to be the ruler our legends speak of, the Queen by her own hand who will help free our realm.” He frowned, noticing his son’s bedroom door was open. Damien was not an early riser and a fanatic about his privacy. He would never have left his door open unless…

Vladimir quickly made his way to the child’s room and peered in, his eyes going immediately to the overly large bed he had the servants set up for her. He smiled, at the sight of his tall son sprawled on the bed, his longish hair tousled and in his eyes, cradling the little girl in his arms protectively as they both slept. The child had thrown an arm around her human guard dog, burying her face in his shoulder. The old warlord took a step in the room and watched the tableau with satisfaction. “Good – at least now I know he’ll do whatever it takes to keep the child when he speaks to the nuns.”

“He would try his hardest no matter what” Uriel’s voice whispered from behind him. The old man fought the urge to jump at the sudden presence of the angel, looming behind him. “He is a better man than you are in all ways.”

“Uriel, you wound me” Vladimir growled back, watching the duo on the bed. “One would think you did not find your companion’s sire a satisfactory influence on YOUR charge.”

“You cannot deceive me” Uriel hissed, standing just behind the old man, his armor gleaming in the low light, his wings unfurled to show their size and strength. “I know you have an ulterior motive for wanting this child of your bloodline in your house.”

“And you will not tell my son” Vladimir replied quietly. “You would not break his heart that way or watch his trust in those he loves, including you, be eroded by discovering my truth. You would not risk him asking uncomfortable questions about what YOU have not said about your plans for his future. So we will make this barter, you and I Archangel Uriel. You will keep my secrets and I will keep yours and we will both watch over my son together, making sure when the time comes he will be able to make the right choice for both himself – and those who will eventually follow him.”

Uriel ground his teeth in frustration. As an Archangel he had the power to simply reach out and end this foolish creature’s life, a simple touch to stop his heart. Very easy – except for the part where he faced his charge with the news of the death of the young man’s father. Damien often said angels didn’t lie well – and that Uriel least well of all. The Archangel knew he would not be able to face his beloved companion with the blood of the old man still on his hands. And the warlord knew it, knew he was safe so long as his son still loved him. “One day you will go too far and I will happily send you to your final judgment.”

Vlad nodded solemnly. “I will go happily, knowing my son was prepared for all that has been planned for him. But that day is not today. So if you will excuse me – I must wake my children and prepare them for the day.” He stepped towards the door, supremely confident that the angel at his back would be gone when he turned around.

Damien cracked one eye open, his mind registering voices where there should be none. “Father?” he croaked, gently setting the child aside and sitting up in bed.

“I see you and our little houseguest are getting along. Did you both sleep well?” Vlad’s voice was both amused and pleased at the same time. 

“Yes” Damien muttered, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “I just came in to see if she was alright.”

“Was there a problem?” Vlad asked sharply, glancing quickly at the little girl who was squeezing her eye tightly shut, pretending to still be asleep.

“No – she just woke up and found herself in a strange place and it unnerved her. She settled once I tucked her in. I didn’t actually mean to stay so long, just until she drifted off…”

“You fell asleep too” Miry said quietly, giving up her pretense and sitting up in her bed. “You snore.”

“I do NOT!” Damien protested with a laugh. “If I did Uriel would have told me. We’ve shared a tent often enough.”

“He probably didn’t want to hurt your feelings” Miry responded, covering a yawn with her hands. “But you DO snore.”

Vlad chuckled. “Something else you can say you inherited from me. Your mother use to complain about my snoring incessantly.” His voice took on a wistful tone. “She said it was annoying and comforting at the same time. At least as long as I was snoring she knew I was still breathing.” He chuckled, shaking his head at his late wife’s reasoning. 

Damien ran his fingers through his hair, hiding a smile. “I never noticed that about you father.” He heaved himself off the bed and stretched. 

“That, boy, is because you’ve spent most of your time with Uriel and not in my tent. I’m sure it’s not something that would have come up in conversation between the pair of you.”

“I should get cleaned up before breakfast” Damien said, trying to work the crick out of his neck. 

“Yes – I quite agree” Vlad said dryly. “And you, little one, will do the same. I’m sure there is SOMETHING in this pile of feminine apparel on the floor that you can wear.”

Miry frowned, looking down at the pile. “It’s all so frilly. You can’t really run and play in it. I’d be afraid to rip it.”

Vlad snorted. “Trust me child, if you tear your dress I’ll just buy you a new one. But you do have a point about the frills. They don’t really seem to suit you.” He picked through a stack and found a simple blue cotton dress and examined it critically. “This should work.” He held it out to the child who also eyed it solemnly then nodded her agreement. “Good – now up and wash your face, the pair of you. Breakfast is in the dining room.” He laid the dress on the bed and walked out, gently swinging the cane in his hand. 

Miry looked up at Damien with a frown. “I don’t understand why he is so kind to me. It’s nice – but I don’t understand it.”

Damien sighed and sank back onto the bed. “You remind him of someone he lost. He didn’t have the chance to be kind to her – so he’s taking this opportunity to be nice to you.” He stared down at his hands for a moment then looked back at her bright hazel eyes. “I have to ask you something and I want you to think about it before you answer.”

Miry pulled her knees up to her chin and looked at her new friend with concern. “I’ll try” she whispered.

Damien swung his legs up, sitting cross-legged in front of the child. “My father wants to offer you a place in our home. He believes your mother was a relation of ours and that she probably would have wanted you to be with him, with family rather than strangers. If I could make that happen – would you want to stay with us?”

Miry stared, wide-eyed, at the young man. “Is it really my choice?”

“If you want it to be” Damien assured.

“My father’s family won’t let me live with you” she whispered mournfully. “They don’t like me but they wouldn’t want people to say they had treated me badly. It wouldn’t look good in their society.”

“Don’t worry about them. Father has a way of making people see things his way – if you want to stay, you can stay. But I need to know that is what YOU want.” Miry’s serious expression both amused and saddened Damien. “She’s really too young to have this choice just thrust at her” he thought, wishing he hadn’t spoken until his father had time to prepare the child. 

“What would I do here?” Miry asked suddenly. “I mean – would I be a servant?”

“No – of course not!” Damien growled. “You would be family. You would be like a sister to me – that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes” she said, hesitantly. “But I don’t understand why you want me. I’m not anything special.”

Damien could feel himself growing angrier by the second, angry that ANYONE could convince this sweet little child that she wasn’t “anything special”. “Well, I think you’re special and so does my father. Even Uri thinks your special – and he doesn’t much like ANYONE my father likes.”

Miry giggled at that. “He likes you.”

Damien smiled back. “We’ve known each other a very long time. He’s my best friend, the only one I can talk to about anything. And he will be the same for you if you let him.” He slid off the bed and held out his hand. “Come along then – father doesn’t usually like being kept waiting. Let’s get us both cleaned up and down for breakfast. You can think about this while I’m gone.”

“Will you be gone long?” she asked, hopping off the bed to stand looking up at him.

“As long as it takes.”

Breakfast was something of a surreal affair as far as Damien was concerned. Normally, he and his father spoke about business, what the other families were plotting and what lessons Uriel was planning for the young man. This morning, however, conversation revolved around whether oatmeal and toast was enough of a morning meal for a growing child. “But it’s all I EVER have at the school!” Miry protested, looking at the dishes of food laid out for her inspection on the sideboard. She sighed at the sight of the massive quantities of bacon, eggs, sausages, toast, fried tomatoes and mushrooms and other items ready to be served. “I’m not sure I want to eat ANY of this.”

“Pick one thing to start with” Vlad replied with an amused smile. “You’ll have a chance to try it all at some point. You know, Damien was quite the picky eater when he was your age as well. He learned to broaden his horizons one bite at a time – and so will you.”

Miry pointed to the eggs and toast hesitantly. “Those… and maybe the tomatoes.” She took her plate from the smiling maidservant and sat down beside the older man, still frowning at her plate. “What happens to the rest of it if we don’t eat it?”

“The servants take it away and eat it. Nothing is wasted, little one, I can assure you of that.” 

Miry took a nibble of egg and then looked over her plate at her host. “Damien says you want me to live with you.”

Vlad shot an annoyed look at his son, who was studiously avoiding looking at the head of the table. “Yes, I think that would be wise, don’t you? The streets are not safe for a beautiful, strong child such as yourself.”

“Is it because you think we’re related?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Yes, because I’m very sure we’re related. I think your mother was part of my family line, a distant relation, and I would like offer you a place in my home as I would have done for her.”

Miry contemplated this as she continued to eat. “Why?”

“Why what” Vlad asked.

“Why do you think we’re related?”

“Because you resemble someone, a child I once knew of but never had the chance to help.” The old man’s voice was gruff, surprising his son. Damien wasn’t sure if his father was truly moved by the memory of his lost child – or was playing a part to sooth the little girl seated beside him. 

Miry eyed her host for a moment, then went back to picking at her plate. “My father’s family won’t let you keep me. They will find some reason to protest.”

Vlad smiled, his sharp teeth just visible over his lips. “I don’t have any intention of giving them a choice in the matter.”

“Do I have a choice?” the child asked, pushing a piece of tomato to the side of her plate.

Vlad shot another aggrieved look at his son. “Of course you have a choice. It is, after all, your life.”

Miry shrugged. “That is what Madame Josephine was always saying but my auntie had other ideas. She thought all young women were good for was to be wives and mothers – and that didn’t require them to have choices.”

Damien laid his fork down and stared stonily at his father. “You are asking her to make a decision when she barely knows us. Father, the child needs time to understand what she’s agreeing to.”

“No – I already know what I want” Miry said, pushing her half empty plate away. “I don’t want to go back to the convent, don’t want to go back to the alley. I want to stay here… if I can.”

Vlad’s smile returned, reaching finally into his normally cold eyes. “Sensible decision. Then we’d best send Damien along to town so he can make the arrangements The sooner he leaves then the sooner he can return with good news.”

Miry nodded, unconvinced. “Yes, I suppose so.” She stared out the window across from her and her face changed abruptly, brightening with surprise. “You have HORSES!” she said excitedly. “Can I see them?” The child was practically bouncing in her seat with excitement, eyes riveted on the beautiful animals peacefully grazing outside.

“Would you like to learn to ride?” Vlad asked, pleased at her reaction. He had hoped the child wasn’t one of those “delicate” types, like the daughters of the other families, little girls who screamed at the sight of bugs and whined when their stockings were ripped. He knew himself well enough to know that he would have no patience with that sort of child. And she would need strength for the trials that she would face in the future, something he could nurture given the chance.

“Oh YES! PLEASE! I’ve wanted to ride horses forever!”

“Then come along. Breakfast can wait.” Vlad rose quickly, holding out his hand to the child. “Damien, you can eat on your way. Off you go – I’m sure Uriel will be waiting for you down the road.” He leaned over his son’s shoulder to whisper in his ear. “Next time, boy, you will do me the courtesy to allow me to speak to the child about plans for her future before you fill her head with concerns. I do NOT want her frightened or confused by mixed messages from either you or your angelic companion.” He straightened and waved the child ahead of him, his voice jovial as he described the steeds in his barn.

Damien tossed his fork on his plate in annoyance. “I knew I should have waited” he groused, motioning the maidservant to take his plate. “He’s angry with me. Now I really must make sure neither her father’s nor her mother’s family will be able to get her back.” Outside the family coach was waiting, horses nervously stamping the ground. Damien thought for a moment about the horseless cars he and Uriel had seen while in London, wondering what it would take for his father to agree to look into investing in such a contraption then shook his head with a smile. “I’ll never get him in something like that” he mused, making himself comfortable. “He likes his horses too much.” His driver snapped the leads and they were off.

It turned out to be a long day, between the travel back into London and all the stops in between. Hours later the coach stopped in front of their last stop for the day, convent and its associated school for young ladies. Damien had spoken to the family solicitors, detailing the situation and giving instructions on what he wanted done. The law firm, manned by gentleman with a vested monetary interest in keeping the Dragón family happy, would see to it that anyone foolish enough to question the warlord’s desire to take in this orphan would either be bought off – or made to disappear. No one would ask too many questions when the girl was presented as a daughter of the house. The last step in his plans now stood in front of him – dealing with the Church. Stepping out of his carriage, Damien frowned, looking at the rundown condition of the grounds. “Surprised the child didn’t develop some lingering illness from living in this place” he groused, waving off his driver. 

“She’s stronger than she looks” Uriel’s voice echoed in his ear. The Archangel moved to his side, dressed in a suit similar to his companion’s. With his dirty blond hair, piercing eyes and unusual height he and his friend looking enough alike to be mistaken for siblings, something Damien took advantage of when needed. The angel shrugged his shoulders, trying to find a comfortable fit for the restrictive suit he was forced to wear in front of mortals. “Don’t know how he manages to make these clothes looks so good” Uriel thought to himself, wishing he could wear his robes instead.

Damien sighed in annoyance. “I really wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that. One of these day’s I’m going to put you through a wall before I know it’s you.” 

“I doubt that” Uriel laughed. “You’re strong but I’m still Archangel.”

“An Archangel who is going to have his wings clipped, by ME, if he doesn’t stop startling me like that. Really Uri, I’m going to put a bell around your neck just so I know you’re there.”

Uriel smiled and gently bumped his shoulder against his friend. “You’ve always known when I’m nearby. It’s part of our bond.”

Damien sighed. “Yes, yes – I’m sorry. I’m in a bad mood because of this morning.” He looked up at his friend with sadness and related that morning’s conversations. “I asked the girl if she wanted to stay with my family and she asked why anyone would want her because she wasn’t anything special. Uriel, who tells a child they are not special? Even at his most dictatorial my father has always praised my accomplishments and made me feel I was unique in this world.”

Uriel laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You are unique and so is she. But those who have had the care of her before are afraid of this. That’s why they have tried to crush this special light in her. It will be better for her to be with you now, where she can finally rise to the heights my Father has prepared for her.”

“WHY do I have the feeling you know something about her that I don’t?” Damien growled.

“Nothing that has any importance right now. Now, she is a child without a home and you and Vlad must provide that lack. Anything else will come- or not – later.”

Damien shook his head, looking up at the sky with exasperation. “Sometime I swear you enjoy making me crazy.”

Uriel smiled.


	9. At the convent school

Inside the convent, Sister Magdalen watched the two young men talk outside the gates, frowning at the note clutched in her hand. It warned that the scion of one of the richest families in Europe was headed her way to discuss her “lost lamb” and she was to hold him there until Father Bartholomew arrived. “Now what has that wretched girl gone and done?” she thought bitterly. She had been annoyed by Sister Bonaventure’s little “error” in losing track of one of her students, yet another in a long list of the elderly nun’s failings. Not that losing that particular girl had been all that unexpected considering her mother’s gypsy upbringing. And after a day or so, the lack of the strange child’s presence in the convent had actually been a blessing in disguise. There had been no more odd occurrences, no strange singing in the gardens after the rise of the moon, no odd animal sightings outside the dormitory where the girls slept. And best yet – no more fruitless arguments about the nature of faith with a seven year old with preternaturally old eyes. Truth be told – the child scared her. There was something about her, something not quite natural. Had she not known the Sealgaire family for years she would not have even allowed the girl to cross her threshold. 

She remembered when Maurice Sealgaire had come to the church to request a mass to be said for his uncle Bartolome, who had died in New Orleans. “He was the black sheep of the family” the well-off merchant had confessed, sitting in the pew with the woman he remembered when she was just Liddy Murphy from Bristol. He brushed a flake of ash from his coat and shook his head in feigned sadness. “Believed in all that “fairy folk” nonsense. And his son is just like him.”

“Your uncle had a son?” Sister Magdalen asked courteously, wondering what else the merchant wanted from the church besides the mass. The man had never been a regular participant in services, even as a child. That he was here now meant he wanted something his money could buy.

“Yes – Robert. His father sent him and his sister Lizzy to live with me when their mother died. The girl was delightful, such a proper young lady. I was SURE I could make a good match for her from one of the families I do business with. But that boy! Too strange, too bookish for his own good. And all the odd things that happened around our house when he was there! Well – my poor wife finally begged me to find other accommodations for him. I think however, that separating him from his sister was good for the girl, at least for a while. She made a good match, even if it was a merchant bound for the Americas. Both of the children returned to New Orleans where Robert has been managing Uncle’s estate. He even managed to find himself a bride – though from what I hear she wasn’t from good family. Then Uncle Bartolome died, under mysterious circumstances, along with Robert and his wife, leaving Lizzy with their only child to raise. Which, by the way, is what I need to talk to both you and Bishop Marcus. Lizzy has asked that I find a proper school for the girl here in England where she can receive a proper education. That city is far too libertine for a well-bred young girl, much less one whose mother… well, the less said there the better.”

She should have known something was wrong then but Bishop Marcus had been happy to speak to the influential businessman – and accept his donation for the church building project – and suddenly she had been forced to accept this strange creature into her school. “I cannot imagine what this family might want with the child. I wonder if the Bishop has contacted Maurice to let him know of their interest.” She returned to her desk, primly folding her bony hands in front of her as she waited for the two men to be shown up to her office.

Outside, Uriel glanced up, seeing movement at the window. “We were being observed.”

“No doubt” Damien agreed, tapping his foot impatiently.

“So, why are we still out here?” 

Damien smiled, all teeth and no warmth, an expression that reminded the angel uncomfortably of the young man’s father. “I’m betting that by now some high level clergyman is on his way to speak for the Church’s interest in the girl. And, if the relations who arranged this little prison cell for her are available, I’m sure they will be on their way too. I prefer to see my enemy coming rather than have them surprise me in an enclosed space.”

“You see a member of the clergy as the enemy?” Uriel asked, disturbed. “When did you become so jaded with regards to the church?”

“Uri, you are not some innocent, naïve soul. You are Archangel – and you know as well as I do wearing the ring and a crucifix around the neck does not make a man or a woman a perfect servant of the All-Father. Many are as greedy and ambitious as the flock they claim to serve.”

“You do not know that is what you will face here!” Uriel protested, watching as a carriage in the distance grew closer.

“No, but I believe in being prepared for the worst. And from the look on your face, the worst is coming up on us at a rapid clip.” Damien turned and watched as the second carriage arrived, disgorging its passengers just behind his own. Damien’s cold smile grew as he saw the Bishop emerge. “Smile Uri. We’re about to enter into the battle.”

Bishop Marcus huffed and puffed as he walked up the path towards the convent gates, leaving the dingy carriage he had shared with Mr. Sealgaire behind. The note he had received from one of the most prestigious law firms in London had left his speechless – and concerned. That a parishioner by the same name as the child mentioned in the note had just stopped by the diocese office in a panic did not seem coincidental. Obviously the man had received a similar note from the firm and was now terrified, demanding that someone, ANYONE, from the church help him to solve this situation. Sealgaire then proceeded to spend the ENTIRE trip to the convent school bemoaning the fact that his uncle’s grandchild had brought unwarranted attention to the family in a way he was sure was scandalous. After the first ten minutes of the diatribe the clergyman had been tempted to have his driver pull over and simply deposit the man on the side of the road while he handled whatever this minor issue was but since he was the child’s only available relative…”I’m sure, Maurice, that this is all just some misunderstanding. I cannot imagine why the house of Dragón would take an interest in this child but once we’ve spoken to Prince Vlad…”

“Prince Vlad?” the man beside him squeaked. “I had no idea he was royalty! The House of Dragón is well connected, wealthier than any noble family in England and now… ROYALTY?”

“I believe he is the last of the line of a royal family from Eastern Europe. No crown for him to claim but he makes up for it with massive amounts of wealth.” The Bishop looked towards the gate, frowning at the two young men standing in front of it. “Well – that’s interesting. Prince Vlad, it seems, has sent his son to speak for him.”

Maurice stopped dead in the road, wide eyes shifting from the Bishop to the man he would be negotiating with. “Who is that with him?”

“No idea” Marcus mused. “I understood that the old prince had only one son – though that one looks enough like his legitimate son to be a by-blow from one of his numerous liaisons.” He shrugged, unconcerned. “It’s the other one we need worry about. I understand he is second only in to his father in ruthlessness. Come along, if we’re lucky we can get this dealt with before evening services.” He waddled ahead, trusting that the shell-shocked merchant was eventually catch up.

“Damien, it’s Bishop Marcus who has come to speak with you” Uriel murmured, leaning into his companion to whisper in his ear.

“Anything I should know about him before we go in?”

“Watch your back” the angel replied, his eyes going cold. “He is a political animal and will do what he must to keep this from tarnishing his rise to the top of the ecclesiastical heap.”

Damien smiled. “And you call me jaded” he said softly, motioning his friend to take the lead through the gate.

The men entered the convent silently, nodding a silent greeting to each other as they stepped over the threshold. A young novitiate showed them the way to the Mother Superior’s office, dipping a timid curtsey to the Bishop as she backed away from the door. Damien’s face took on cold arrogant façade, a mask Uriel recognized from the times he’d watched Damien negotiate terms of surrender on the battlefield. “This is going to be bloody” he thought to himself, wondering if he would have to reveal himself to these servants of his Father’s house in order to keep his charge from saying or doing something unforgivable. 

Sister Magdalen rose and bowed respectfully to the Bishop. “It is very kind of you to take an interest in this matter sir. I’m sorry we had to take time from your busy schedule…”

“The Bishop isn’t the only one who has other places to be” Damien snarled, planting himself in a chair just slightly taller than the one the priest had chosen.

“Yes, of course Mr. Dragón” the nun said, looking at the other man in the room. “Let me introduce you to Maurice Sealgaire who is little Miryam’s legal guardian.”

Damien’s eyes focused unblinkingly on the new sweating merchant. “Hmmm… I think I know you sir. Your little mercantile house does business with some of my trading companies. Interesting.” The shark-like smile had returned to his handsome face as he contemplated what he could hold over this creature’s head to force him to give up control over the little girl.

Maurice bowed awkwardly. “I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”

Damien snorted. “That remains to be seen.”

Sister Magdalen looked pointedly at Uriel, who had chosen to stand behind Damien’s chair rather than take a seat himself. “And this would be…?”

‘My foster brother Uriel” Damien replied smoothly. “He’s here as my advisor.”

Uriel’s fingers tightened on his companion’s shoulder, a sign he would support him in whatever he chose to do. The angel nodded frigidly at the Mother Superior and the Bishop, choosing to ignore the nervous merchant altogether. “Good day to you all.”

Damien laced his fingers together to keep them from forming fists, looking directly at the representative of the church. “So, Bishop, what brings you to this conversation? I had thought that I would speak only to the Mother Superior or to Miry’s current guardians.”

Bishop Marcus flashed a false smile. “As you might imagine, Mr. Dragón, the church is concerned with the welfare of this orphaned waif put in our care.”

Damien cocked his head in amusement. “So concerned you didn’t notice she was gone for over a month. I asked a friend in Scotland Yard if anyone had reported a child missing matching the girl’s description. Imagine my surprise when I discovered no one had.”

“We assumed the child had run away” Sister Magdalen replied, leaning her bony arms on the desk. “She is a very strange child. Barely recognizable as a having had a Christian upbringing.”

“She’s seven years old” Damien replied coldly, not taking his eyes off the two men. He could feel Uriel clamping down on his shoulders, gently keeping him pinned to his seat. Damien shrugged him off and sat forward, vivid blue eyes staring holes into the old woman's soul. “I don’t care if she’s got two heads and a tail – a seven year old child should not be made to find their own way in rough alleyways of London.”

“Yes, of course, you are correct” the Bishop replied hastily, shooting a quelling look at the now flustered nun. “But now that we know she is safe we can begin to set things right. How soon do you think you and your father will be able to return her to her family?”

Damien smiled and leaned back, crossing his legs and staring at the group with interest. The Bishop began to sweat nervously at the intense observation from both young men. “What makes you think I’m going to return her?”

Maurice gasped. “But… you must! She isn’t your family!”

“She’s my bloodline” Damien replied smoothly, looking up at Uriel with a knowing look. “Her mother’s mother is, according to my father, a relation of ours. Which makes this quite simple as far as I am concerned. You obviously have no use for the child or you wouldn’t have confined her to something resembling a workhouse with the intention of forgetting she ever existed. My father and I are willing to take her in, make a lady of her and present her as OUR family. Now, you can deny us this but understand… there will be consequences for your unwillingness. Very painful consequences – starting with a message to the proper authorities demanding an investigation into this facility and how it’s caring for its charges. While I doubt that will help any of the girls still in residence it will make your parishioners think twice about supporting this charity. And with a little push in the right direction – I dare say I could cut your donations by at least half. So tell me, Bishop Marcus, what good work would you have to delay or deny if I were able to do that?” Damien stared lazily down at the gold ring on his finger, absently playing with it as he waited for the expected reaction. He didn't have to wait long.

Marcus glared at the young men, noticing the taller one was smiling approvingly down at his “brother” in satisfaction. “Everyone has skeletons in their closet, Mr. Dragón. You had best not make threats unless you want yours exposed.”

“Oh by all means, expose away” Damien rumbled. “My solicitors will be happy to take you to court for any unproven comment that comes to their attention. And of course my father's business managers will make sure any suspected of spreading slanderous lies about either myself or my family have unfortunate financial issues befall them. .I dare say your Archbishop and the current Pope might be quite happy to hear of anything you came up with though I suspect it would shine a darker light on you than on me. And there, as they say, goes your rise to power in the church.”

“You know His Holiness Pope Leo?” Maurice whimpered.

“My father knew him when he was merely Gioacchino Pecci” Damien purred. “And he still owes my sire for his support when he was a Legate in Benevento. My father’s men helped guard him from the members of the Camorra who were destroying the economy. One does not forget a blood debt like that – not even when you are Pope.”

“You would have been a child when his Holiness was Legate” Bishop Marcus snarled. "I seriously doubt..."

“I did say it was my father who knew him" Damien replied, stretching out his long legs. “And even Popes don't forget a blood debt. Now, I personally don’t see why ANY of this is such an issue. The good sister here and Miry herself have both made it quite clear that the child doesn’t really fit in at this establishment. And as my father can, if need be, prove he has as much right to look after the child’s future as your friend here…” He waved a languid hand in the direction of Maurice, who tried not to flinch. “then it's merely a transfer of responsibilities from one family to another. And when you come right down to it – none of this is really the Church’s concern is it? This is something Mr. Sealgaire and I should be handling – privately.” 

“Yes, of course” the merchant babbled, nervously. “I mean, if your father is CERTAIN of his relation to the girl’s mother I see no reason why this should be an issue at all! The child was NEVER comfortable in my home and if your father is gracious enough to offer her sanctuary…”

“We are” Damien pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and passed it to the merchant. “This is a legal document, drawn up by my solicitor, making my father and myself the legal guardians of the child Miryam Sealgaire. Sign it, and this all goes away. All if it – including any interest my family has in making trouble for the church.”

"Perhaps I should read that before you sign it" Bishop Marcus said stiffly, watching the merchant's trembling hands smooth out the paper on the nun's desk. This had NOT gone as he had hoped. The young man was the image of his father - ruthless, cold blooded, determined to have his own way no matter what, even if it meant running rough shod over the Church's concerns. He wasn't sure if Damien's threats to move this conversation along to Pope Leo had any legitimacy but for the sake of his continued career and hopes for being made Archbishop in the future he had to try to regain some semblance of control.

"If you have questions - ask Uriel. He's quite adept at interpreting the legal system, has done so for me for years. I'm sure he can put it into simple terms for you." Damien's sarcasm closed down any other comments the Bishop had thought to make but didn't penetrate the merchant's fogged brain - something the young man was counting on. The agreement was legal, binding and quite specific. The child's family on her father's side would have NO say in anything that was said or done for the little girl. They were, essentially, giving up all rights to her and anything that was associated with her. 

Maurice licked his lips, wishing he could find an excuse to delay. Neither he nor his good wife had been prepared for having the child left on their doorstep after her parent's deaths but his niece had insisted, in her note, that the girl could not stay in the city as her mother's unfortunate friends were proving to be a bad influence. It hadn't taken long to see what his niece was concerned with. The child looked at everyone with eyes far too old for her young face and asked far too many odd questions. And then the strange events had begun - whispering in the dark, animals howling in the middle of the night. His wife had finally insisted on the convent school as a way to get the child out of their house and away from their children. Maurice wondered if he should warn the young man just what type of demonic force he was taking into this house. "Would serve the arrogant twat right if she set fire to their estate" he thought furiously as he snatched up a quill and signed his name at the bottom of the page. 

"There! Take her. I never wanted her anyway."

Damien smiled then handed the papers to Uriel. "Uri?"

The angel read the document quickly and nodded. "Well crafted. Your solicitor does good work."

"He had better considering what I pay him" Damien laughed. 

"Mr. Dragón - a moment of your time" Sister Magdalen said suddenly, casting a furtive look at both the Bishop and Sealgaire.   
Damien cast a quizzical eye towards the nun. “Is there a problem?” 

The Bishop surged out of his chair. “No, of course not. You have what you came for, what else could there be to talk about?”

Damien gave the cleric a haughty look. “I wasn’t speaking to you.” He turned his chair away from them, ignoring the Bishop’s outraged gasps. “If the sister has something to say to me I would hear it. You, however, have nothing more to say that I wish to hear. You are dismissed.”

“We are not your servants” Marcus sputtered “to be sent away so high handedly! I am a Prince of the Church, God’s messenger to his faithful!”

“No, you are annoying, small minded talking apes who should mind your betters and do as you are told!” Uriel replied, suddenly moving between his companion and the prelate. His crystal blue eyes, usually as bright as the morning sky were now cold as sapphires, with a sense of power rolling off him like waves in a turbulent sea. The two men cowed back at the sudden change in the handsome young man’s calm demeanor.

“Uri” Damien’s voice drifted quietly over his shoulder to his now angry companion. “Enough. Show them the door. They are no longer needed here.” He rose as well, putting his hands on his friend’s shoulders to calm and center him. A rueful smile appeared on Damien’s handsome face. “You’re supposed to keep ME from losing MY temper, not the other way around. Remember?”

The angel looked back at his companion, reigning in his anger before he lost control and showed these humans just what they had dared to try to face down. “Sorry” he murmured. “My fault entirely.” He waved a hand towards the door. “I suggest you leave. Your part in this conversation is now over.”

The Bishop gaped in astonishment at the young man, his mouth moving silently as he tried to find words for his outrage – until he looked into Uriel’s eyes. For a moment all the power and glory of the Light was visible, silencing the priest’s outrage. The Bishop turned a sickly white, clutching at his heart as he stumbled back into Maurice, then tottered towards the door. The prelate tried to rationalize what he had felt looking into that man’s eyes and found no explanation for the awe – and fear – he had felt. Uriel watched somberly as this faux servant of his Father’s church lurched out of the room, knowing he had overstepped his boundaries, allowing one of God’s creatures to glimpse the majesty that was Archangel. He shook his head ruefully then pulled a chair around so that he could sit beside his companion. “Maybe you are rubbing off on me.”

Damien waited until the other’s had left before returning to his seat, taking an affectionate swat at his friend’s blond hair as he did so. “And that’s a bad thing?” he laughed. He waited till Uriel’s peaceful smile had returned then looking appraisingly at the num. “Now sister, what is it you want to talk about?”

The nun looked back and forth between the two men, taking note of their similarities and differences and wondering what their relationship really was. If they were brothers then they were closer than any two she had seen in a while – especially if one was only a foster. She sat up primly, folding her hands in her lap with a sigh. “It behooves me to tell you, sir, what it is you are taking into your house.”

“I’m taking a seven year old girl into my house” Damien replied, exasperated. “What else could she be?”

“I would not be doing my Christian duty to you and your family if I did not warn you of the things that have happened both her and at the Sealgaire home. Maurice’s wife is quite fond of the school and has on many occasions honored me with her confidences, including her concerns about the little girl.”

Damien’s index finger began to tap rapidly on the chair, a sign his not inconsiderable temper was on the edge of exploding. “Sister, we are on the verge of the Twentieth Century – an age of new sciences, new discoveries and you want me to hear ghost stories about ONE little lost child?”

Uriel reached out and put his hand over Damien’s wrist, “My turn” he whispered, squeezing his friend’s hand to steady him. He looked coldly back at the nun, mentally picking through the torrent of things he would LIKE to saw to this wretched creature and finding the one least likely to make things worse. “Does the child have any belongings that we need to take back with her?”

The nun’s lips thinned in annoyance. “Only a few books and items of clothing. She came with next to nothing that was not given to her out of her guardian’s charity.”

Uriel could feel the muscles in Damien’s arm start to tense again. “Fine, can you take us to where these items might be located so that we may pack them up? I think my brother and I have been away from home long enough. It will be dark soon and I, for one, do not relish traveling country roads at night.”

Sister Magdalen sniffed, washing her hands of the pair of them. “I will have one of the sister’s do that and bring the items to you here. If you will excuse me – I have a school to look after.” She rose up haughtily and strode out the door, banging it shut behind her.

“Well – that was informative” Damien said, looking at his friend with a crooked smile. “My temper probably didn’t help matter any – did it?”

“Not yours or mine” Uriel admitted, patting his friend’s hand.


	10. At the convent school - continued

They waited for what seemed hours (though in reality was probably only minutes) until the timid form of a young teacher came to the office, a box in her hands. “This is all we could find of her things” the woman whispered shyly. “It seems the other girls may have …”

“Helped themselves to the poor creature’s meager possessions?” Damien growled, staring down at the almost empty box, shaking out the few random items of clothing – a school uniform, a set of hideous shoes, and a moth eaten cap – onto the office floor, dropping the container along with them. “Get that old cow of a Mother Superior back in here. She has some explaining to do.”

“Damien” Uriel warned softly, seeing the woman’s face turn crimson at his companion’s anger. 

“No – neither Father nor I can abide thieves. You remember what he did in our homeland to anyone he found stealing from their neighbors? Well – my distaste for that sort of creature springs from those events.” He turned and towered menacingly over the shaken woman. “Either I get ALL that the child came with when she was sent to this forsaken place or I will PERSONALLY tear the school apart until I am satisfied that none of these little cut-purses have profited from this child’s misfortune. NOW GO!” The woman scampered away, almost in tears, whimpering as she ran.

Uriel tilted his head back, counting to ten before he spoke. “Damien, that wasn’t …”

“Fair? Understanding? Wise? All of the above?” his companion snarled. “I’m not feeling any of those things right now. They think they can just fob the child off with a threadbare uniform and some other bits of clothing? I think not.”

“You don’t even know if she had any other belongings!” Uriel protested.

“I know that arrogant, self-styled “bride of Christ” specifically said the child had a few books with her. Do you see any books in that box? No – because they have been parceled out to the others like candy. I refuse to allow the little tarts to be rewarded for their misdeeds with MY SISTER’S possessions!” Damien kicked the box angrily, sending it crashing against the wall before dropping back into his chair.

Uriel hung his head, realizing that even after all these years together he still had work to do on helping his companion with his volatile temper. “All right but can we at least wait until the nun returns before you start tearing this school apart looking for something that may not exist?” He settled himself in the chair opposite his friend, staring at him with a puzzled frown.

“You’re staring at me” Damien grumbled, his eyes fixed on the door.

“No, I’m… oh, alright yes I’m staring. You know you called her your sister just now? When you were massively losing your temper with me, you referred to Miry as your sister.” Uriel cocked his head, trying to hide his smile. “If I didn’t know better I’d swear you’re becoming fond of the child.”

“And how would that have happened?” Damien’s voice took on an aggravated tone. “She’s at this point spent more time with Father than with me. I barely know the girl.”

Uriel laughed softly. “I knew you had a soft heart under all that armor plating.”

Damien glanced up at his companion with a wry grin. “Says the angel who conned his brother into helping us retrieve her because he couldn’t bear the thought of her spending another night in that cold, filthy alley.”

Uriel ducked his head, face slightly flushed. “She’s a baby, Damien! No child should have to live like that – not where there are other alternatives!”

Damien laughed. “I’m just teasing, Uri.” He cocked his head towards the door, eyes narrowing. “Mother Superior is coming – how do we want to handle this?”

“NOW you ask me?” Uriel sighed. “It’s far too late for diplomacy.”

“So a little intimidation is in order? I like that plan” Damien rose, motioning his friend to join him.

As they took their places in front of the desk, the office door flew open and the enraged nun strode in – and stopped in her tracks. The two men were still in her office, both looking coldly down at her. She had been peripherally aware that they were taller than the average Englishman and certainly bigger than the scrawny Bishop or merchant they had just negotiated with. But now – the two men seemed even more imposing then before, especially one who had been introduced as Uriel. His crystal blue eyes radiated a power she had never seen in anyone’s eyes before, not the clergy she had bullied into helping start the school, not the laypeople who worked for pittance at the convent and most decidedly not any of the other residents of the attached convent. This man’s eyes were almost unearthly in their power and they were staring right at her. “Mr. Dragon! What is the meaning…”

“You said the child came with books and other clothes yet you DARE to try to only send that rag along with us! I want what the child came with and I want it NOW!” Damien’s ramrod straight posture, honed from years of sword work, tensed as he took one step towards the frail old man staring defiantly at him.

“Damien” Uriel said softly, slipping between the other man and his prey. “Let me handle this.”

Damien took a step back, allowing his companion some room. He could hear (if not see) Uri’s wings rustle as the angel prepared to work his angelic magic on the woman in front of him. “Better him than me.”

Uriel stood tall before the nun, his eyes radiating on a fraction of the power that he, as the Light of God, could reveal. “Sister, you know what has been done here was wrong and that our Lord in Heaven will not forgive or forget your part in it. All we ask is that the child’s belongings, her only links to the life she had before this, be returned to her. If you will not help us, my… brother” stuttering slightly on the title, “and I will be forced to take action. And we both know that will not end well.” He rolled his shoulders and a wing-shaped shadow seemed to flow up from the floor to surround him. “For all our sakes, do as my brother asks and find what the child came to you with that we might return it all to her.”

Damien bit his lip, staring at the desk and trying not to laugh. “He sounds so bloody SERIOUS” the young prince thought. “Like a little boy trying to imitate his father. I’m going to enjoy holding this over his head for a while.”

Uriel, seeing the corners of his friend’s mouth turn up in a failed attempt to hide a smile, sighed. He had a feeling he was going to hear about that little speech for a while. “Take us to where the child had her bed” he intoned, ignoring his friend’s mirth. “We’ll do what needs to be done.”

“Yes – of course” the Mother Superior stuttered, backing away from the light and heat emanating from the man in front of her. She stumbled out into the corridor, with both men following closely behind her, and headed for the dormitory.

Uriel glanced over at his companion. “It’s not polite to laugh at an angel when they are trying to do good work.”

Damien snorted. “You laugh at me often enough – just getting a little of my own back. Besides, you’re cute when you try to be so mature.”

Uriel blushed. “I’m NOT… oh what’s the use! Let’s just get these books and go home.”

Damien stopped and grabbed his companion’s arm. “Hey – stop. You know I’m only teasing. You’re my best friend, Uri, the only one I can talk to. You KNOW how much I appreciate you being in my life – right?”

Uriel’s blush deepened. “It’s alright. I just… forget sometimes how humans like to poke at each other. I wasn’t mad – really. Come one, she’s getting too far ahead.” He picked up the pace, trotting after the elderly nun with Damien strolling along behind them.

The girl’s dormitory was as bleak on the inside as the rest of the facility. Rows of cots with threadbare coverings stretched the length of one long room. A few of the cots had personal items either jammed under the beds or laying out on the pillows. Damien could feel his jaw tighten at the sad little scene, understanding now why the child had not been overly enthused about returning to the school. “Even the bloody alleyway must have seemed more comforting than this place” he muttered, staring over Uriel’s shoulder at the Mother Superior. 

Uriel glanced into his friends eyes, as glacially blue as his own, and nodded silently. 

Sister Magdalen looked around the room, fingers tight around her rosary as she calculated where the few books the girl had come with might have disappeared to. “She was in this wing, last bed on the right. I’m sure what few items she might have had with her won’t have gone far.”

“I suggest you get whatever senior girl was in this little slice of paradise and FIND OUT!” Uriel’s voice was strained and louder than he had anticipated, making both the nun and Damien start at his tone. He felt Damien put a hand on his back for support, his friend’s presence comforting to the angel. Sister Magdalen skittered around the two men and all but ran out of the room as fast as her elderly legs could carry her. 

Damien leaned his head against his companion’s shoulder. “Uri” he started.

Uriel dropped his head. “I know” he whispered. “I’m doing everything I tell you not to – losing my temper, speaking intemperately. I just…”

“You’ve just been around me too long” Damien rumbled, patting his friend’s back. “It happens. At least you didn’t threaten to mount her bony ass on a pike in front of the school.”

Uriel glared at his charge. “I would never…” 

“No but you thought about it” Damien teased.

Uriel sighed, a small smile forming on his handsome face. “I probably did – just for a moment. Happy now?”

“Yes. At least you’re smiling again. That’s something – isn’t it?” Damien chuckled ruffling his friend’s blond hair affectionately. “Now – while she’s out let’s take this room apart.”

Twenty minutes later the two men had a small stack of assorted books, hidden in various corners of the room, piled on one of the beds. Two were workbooks, obviously used by one of the girls to practice her writing skills. Another was a bible, with assorted passages carefully underlined in pencil. The remaining items were nothing more than albums of drawings and one or two black and white photos of deadly serious people in deadly serious clothes. 

Uriel peered at the photos for a moment then grimaced. “These are photos of the dead” he said, carefully laying them back on the bed.

Damien raised one eyebrow. “What?”

“I’m surprised you’ve never seen this before. Many humans, in an attempt to keep alive the memory of a deceased loved one, take photos of the corpses prior to burial. That’s what these are – photos of the dead.”

Damien eyed the photos with distaste. “That’s just a bit macabre for my taste. I hope these don’t belong to Miry – I’d hate to have them and their associated ghosts haunting my home.”

“I doubt it” Uriel mused. “Even in death their Fae blood would reveal itself to the camera’s eye. These poor souls were merely mortal.”

Damien frowned, looking around the room one last time. “I’m thinking none of these are Miry’s. If that’s the case – where are the books that belong to her?”

Uriel also examined the room carefully. “She seems a very careful sort, one who would not necessarily trust her possessions out in the view of others. Maybe she hid what she brought with her?”

Damien carefully paced around the cot Sister Magdalen had indicated once belong to Miry. “Not under the mattress, what little there is of it. Too obvious. No headboard to slide anything behind. I wonder…” He dropped to his knees and slithered carefully under the cot, tapping at the floor boards. One board in particular sounded slightly different from the others. “Clever girl.” He felt around the board, sinking his nails into a small depression in the wood and yanked. The board came up easily, revealing a small depression with what appeared to be a cloth-wrapped item snuggly fitted into it. He carefully pulled the item out and slid back out from under the bed, handing the parcel to his friend.

Uriel examined the bundle, feeling a warmth from it that should not be there. “I’m thinking these are not picture books” he muttered, dropping onto one of the cots. 

“What are they then?” Damien asked, sitting beside his friend.

Uriel gently opened the package and leafed through the larger of the two volumes. It was a set of drawings, mostly animals and plants, with the initials E.S. written in an neat hand in the corner of the page. “Most likely one of her parents was an artist” Uriel murmured, uncomfortable with the idea of keeping information from his charge yet knowing it wasn’t time for the younger man to know all. The smaller of the two books in the package was older, bound in leather, with silken cords binding it shut. Once opened words all but leapt off the page at them, elegant script written in golden ink. “It’s a book of hours – something like a devotional but written in the elder language.” He ran his hand gently over the page, reading quickly through the first few paragraphs. “It speaks of the final days of the old order – when the high Fae lost power in their own world and retreated to the shadows and hills. I think this might have been written by the last of the gatekeepers – the one known as Sealgaire.”

“Isn’t that the family name Miry claims?” Damien asked, troubled by this turn of events.

“Yes. He was the last of the masters of the gate, the only one of his generation who could control the unseelie beasts who roamed just outside the border of Sidhe – the land your family claims as home. This book is a memory of those last few days – and a warning of what might be coming if the gates were not re-opened correctly.” He laid the book in his friend’s lap solemnly. “I don’t think you should give this book to your father – or to Miry.”

Damien raised an eyebrow at his friend’s words. “Why?”

“Because we both know he is ambitious for you – and I would not give him reason to push you into something that isn’t possible. At least not yet.”

Damien put the small book in his coat pocket with a sigh. “I won’t lie to the child. If she asks I will tell her I have this.”

Uriel nodded. “I won’t lie to her either.”

Damien snorted. “You CAN’T lie – you’re truly miserable at it. She’s see the lie coming a mile away. At least I’d have some chance of getting it past her.”

“No – neither of us would. Remember at dinner? She could see your father’s lie as though it were written on his face. It’s one of her gifts.”

“One of them?” Damien asked, rising to his feet. “What others do you think that little girl could possibly have?”

“I don’t know – and that worries me.”


	11. Back at the Manor House

Vlad watched appreciatively as the little girl walked fearlessly up to the giant Percherons that were he and his son's prize steeds. The animals were over 18 hands high (six feet and bit) - towering over the small child looking up at them. These were war horses, bred to run with armored men on their backs, through battle sounds and smells that would make any other horse quake with fear. They were bright, difficult to handle by any but the most experienced of riders or grooms - yet they all stood silently, looking down at this tiny creature in their midst as though waiting for her approval. "Do you like them?"

Miry looked back at her host with a smile. "They are magnificent. Can I ride one? Please?"

One of the Romany grooms frowned, looking back at his master. "Sire - these are not ponies. They are not trained to allow a gentle hand to lead them. They will shake her off without a thought."

Vlad considered the man's comment for a moment then waved him away. "She'll have to learn sometime. Best it be now while the ground is soft enough for her not to injure herself too much. But first, child, we must find you something to wear. You cannot sit a horse wearing a dress. And you most certainly will be riding astride, like Damien and I do. None of this silly sidesaddle nonsense."

Miry glanced over at one of the young boys watching this interaction with the Master's fearsome steeds with amusement. "Can I borrow something from them? I can ride dressed like they are, can't I?"

The groom looked suitably horrified. "A young lady doesn't dress like a boy!"

"This one does" Vlad growled. He took the child's hand and turned back to the house. "I dare say we have something of Damien's when he was MUCH younger than those lads that might fit you with a little alteration."

Miry walked along, staring back at the horses for a moment longer than glanced at her host. "If I am to stay here then what do I call you? You're not my father, not my Master like you are to the servants but I can't call you by your first name. That would be rude."

Vlad flashed a quick smile. "Call me Uncle. That will suffice for now." He motioned back towards the house. “Come along. Sooner we get you dressed properly the sooner your riding lessons can begin.”

Miry allowed herself to be led back towards the manor for a moment, then stopped dead in her tracks. "Someone is coming" she whispered. 

Vlad glanced down at his charge, frowning at her sudden hesitation. "Who is coming, child?"

"I don't know - but there is a dark cloud coming with them. And it's getting cold. Can't you feel it? The horses can, they know something wrong is coming this way." She glanced back at the now nervous war horses.

Vlad stared down the road, cursing himself for letting his guard down. She was right - he could feel the darkness coming. But unlike the child, he recognized its origin. "Go inside and stay in the library until I call for you" he growled, planting his cane in front of him like a spear. 

"Who is it?" she asked, quietly, drawing closer to the old man rather than running away. "Who is bringing the darkness with them?"

"Someone I had hoped not to see quite yet" he replied, not looking down. "Do as you are told, child. This conversation in not for your ears - at least not yet."

"Yes, Uncle." she replied and ran swiftly back into the house. Vlad watched as she disappeared into the manor then glanced to one side, catching the gaze of his groom. “Get Niko and the others. Tell them to meet me in front of the house.” The groom blanched then ran back towards the barn, soon to be replaced by a mountain of a man. 

“Yes, my prince? How may I serve?” 

Vlad motioned to the man he had summoned to follow him. Niko was Nikolas Testla – one of his master’s most trusted (and most feared) Romani guards. He stood taller and broader even than Uriel’s human form, with one eye clouded and useless from an injury on the battlefield. He was a mass of muscles with scarred features, the other eye as dark and cold as a shark’s, always watching to make sure he knew where everything and everyone was located. He was universally feared by all except the old warlord to whom this giant of a man owed a debt of eternal gratitude and loyalty though no one living knew the reason behind his devotion. “We are to have company, Niko. Tell that vrăjitoare vechi (old witch) who resides in your house that I need something to put a wall up between our visitor and my house.”

Niko nodded. "Yes, my prince. My grandmother has already prepared such a thing in case of emergency I will have her release it now."

Vlad nodded. He had thought the old crone would have something like what he was looking for in her arsenal, ready be deployed. His people had suffered enough at the hands of others of the “Families” to be prepared to lash back at his order if anyone tried to take them from the sanctuary of the home the Warlord offered them, especially the old woman who lived in Niko's home under his protection. Glancing back at the house, he could see the small figure of Miry at the windows, watching him with unblinking interest. He pointed to the window. “See that figure there? That is the daughter of my house, Niko, and I would have you watch over her as you watch over me. Let nothing tough her lest I order it.”

Niko glanced at the window, seeing the child’s figure standing with hands pressed to the glass panes. “As my Master commands, so it will be done.”

“Good. Now go, get defenses up and ready. My guest will be here soon.”


	12. Getting ready for an unwelcome guest

Miry watched as the giant walked up to her new “uncle”, towering over even the tall figure of her host. Behind her she could hear the maids whispering in a language she didn’t understand but a tone that she did. The servant girls stayed well away from the windows, twittering like frightened birds and pointing at the creature beside their employer. “Really, so rude!” she thought, watching the two men talk. “It’s not nice to have conversations behind someone’s back that they can’t participate in.” She noticed the larger man look up and eye her speculatively then nod to his master before stalking off behind the barn. 

“Miss, come away from the window” one of the girls hissed, motioning for her to join them. “The Devil will see you and curse you with his evil eye.”

Miry rolled her eyes in annoyance. “He’s not the Devil – he’s just a very big, not very handsome man. He can’t curse anyone – there isn’t a darkness around him like there is whatever is coming up the road.”

The maids stared at her in surprise. “No one is coming, Miss. The Housekeeper would have begun preparations for guests if someone was visiting.”

Miry shrugged. “Someone is coming, There is a cloud with a funny, bad smell and a dank coldness in the air. I’ve smelled that before in the butcher’s shop in New Orleans. It’s the smell of blood in the air. It’s the cold I feel whenever I’ve been in the cemetery to visit my parent’s grave. I don’t know what it is – but it’s not good.”

The maids stepped carefully back another few inches from their master's strange guest. "Do you need anything from us, Miss?" the scrawniest of the girls asked, shoving her fellow servants towards the door.

Miry waved her hand at them, not bothering to look back. "No - go away. I'm tired of listening to you." She picked up a large book from the shelf beside her and settled into the window seat, hiding inside the curtains as she waited for whatever was going to happen outside to begin. Behind her the maids scurried for the door, slamming it as they made their escape.

"So rude" the child thought, opening her book.

Outside

The old crone muttered in a language not heard in this world for ages, tossing ashes and other items around the perimeter of the house and into the road. She stopped, satisfied her barriers were solid then looked back at the giant at her back. "So, Niko - tell me about the child. What has the old one said about her?"

The hulking figure shrugged. "Only that I am to protect her as I protect him. Nothing more."

The crone nodded sagely. "The Warlord has two of the three pieces to the key - now all he needs is the young dragon. Once he has that he will open the Dark Gates and we will be free of this place."

Niko snorted. "You said, aged one, that the young dragon was in the care of one of the angelic hosts just as our Master's son is. What makes you think that higher angel will allow our Sovereign to use the other child's powers for his own benefit?"

"Because he must" the crone replied, flicking an ash from her dress "If he wants his Firebird to reign over the Fae he will need to have all three of the Guardians of Man at his disposal. And I have great faith in our Master's ability to get what he wants, whenever he wants. Especially now that he has the center piece of the puzzle - the girl child of the prophecy." She turned and started up the path. "Come, introduce me to this child. I would know just how much power she really has - and how much the Master will have to control."

Vlad watched from the door of the manor house as Niko lead his aged grandmother away towards the rear entrance to the house. He suspected the crone wanted to see their new member of the household, to assess just how powerful the child really was. "One of us is in for a shock" he mused, knowing his son would never have allowed the witch near the child if he or his archangel shadow were in residence. He also knew that Magda, the most ancient of her lineage, was the only one who could tell for certain if the child really was the "The One" - the queen foretold in the prophecy. Part of him hoped she was - it would make keeping her safe and close that much easier. Yet some part of him hoped she was merely a pretty Fae girl and nothing more. The path the Chosen would take was hard - as he had seen with his own son - and he found himself hoping to spare this pretty child as much of the pain as he could. "You're getting soft in your old age" he muttered, watching as the dark clouds rolled forward down the road, signifying the approach of his half-sister Helena and her twisted retinue. The battle for control was about to move in to the next phase.

 

Inside the manor

Magda shuffled along behind Niko, glancing with wry amusement at the various servants who stepped quickly out of their way, holding out charms to ward off the “evil eye” both she and her grandson were accused of possessing. ‘Ignorant little things” the old woman thought. “But then humans can be quite blind in their own way.” She smoothed down a wrinkle in the “veil” she wore to conceal her true face from the ones in the house who were not Fae blood. Both she and the old Warlord were far older than any who worked for him could imagine. Even his son was over two hundred years old and settling into his longevity with grace. The routine of “dying” and then “returning” as a long-lost member of the family was repetitive and annoying but a necessary evil among beings whose life span was not even a quarter of theirs. “Open the door boy and then stand guard. I’ll not be a moment. Either the child is what the old man thinks she is or she isn’t. Either way, best to know.”

Niko nodded, opening the door and allowing the old woman to precede him into the room. He turned, putting his back to the closed library door and glared down the hall at anyone daring to get too close.

Inside, Magda followed the light she could see surrounding the child seated in the window. “Hello dearie” she called, using her best “old crone voice”.

Miry peeked out from behind the curtains with a frown. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what dear?” Magda asked, intrigued.

“Using that silly, high pitched tone” Miry said, laying her book on the window seat. She eyed the elderly woman calmly, taking in the shifting nature of the image in front of her. “That’s very strange.”

“What is dear?” Magda asked.

“When I look at you I see two different people. One is an aged, ugly old witch but the other is an old but well born lady like my friend Madame. It’s very strange – but they are both you!”

Magda’s eyes widened. “You see behind my veil then. That is most interesting.”

“What’s a veil?” the child asked, curious.

“Here – I will show you.” The old woman made a motion around her head, as though she were removing something that wasn’t really there. Suddenly the dual images disappeared and only the one – the elderly well-born lady – remained. She held out her hand for the child to see the shimmering, almost transparent material that now hung from her fingers. “This is a veil, child. It allows me to be seen in whatever form I want so long as the veil remains on my skin. Not many can see past this – you have very good eyes.” 

Miry hopped off the seat and gingerly touched the material being held out to her. “It’s just another form of a lie – and I can always tell when people lie to me. It’s pretty though, so maybe it’s not so bad.”

Magda smiled, her mind racing. Of all the children that the Fae had born in this reality not even the pure bred ones had been able to see through her veil at this age. Perhaps the old one was right after all. She took a seat on the overstuffed sofa and motioned for the girl to join her. “I think, little one, that we need to get to know one another if you are to stay with the old man. Let us start with names, shall we? I am Magda and you are…”

“Miry” she responded, looking back at the window. “Do you know what is coming up the road? It’s so dark and cold – I’m worried for Uncle.”

Magda’s mouth thinned into a semblance of a smile. “Something wicked is coming up the path child. I know Vladimir and Damien will wish to protect you from it – but I think it would be best if you understand just what is coming. I suspect you are more than able to cope with what I tell you , despite what the men around you say. Do you not agree?”

Miry smiled. “Yes, Miss Magda.”

Magda gently patted her on the hand. “Call me Auntie. All the children do.” She looked around the dark library with a small, dissatisfied frown. “How very inconsiderate of the old man’s servant’s to leave you without tea.”

“It’s a bit early for tea” Miry said, still running the transparent veil through her fingers. “We only just had breakfast a little while ago.”

“Yes but I’m sure you could eat again, couldn’t you? I know I could at your age. I could eat anything put in front of me and not gain an ounce. Of course, I also could ride a horse, swing a sword and do all the things my brothers could do. Those days, however, are long gone. Just as well. Now child, my grandson Niko stands at the door – just run over and have him instruct the housekeeper to prepare a pot of tea and some of those scones she’s always bragging about. I think that will be all we need for now.”

Miry eyed her dubiously. “I don’t think she will do that. The servants don't like your grandson. They warned me he had the evil eye.”

“Oh, that’s just rubbish from some very silly, uneducated sorts. The housekeeper is probably just as silly but she, at least, will have sense enough to give him what he wants rather than deal with the master.” Magda waved a hand negligently towards the door. “Go on then, tell him what you want from the kitchen and let him find a way to provide it.”

Miry shrugged and slid off the sofa, running quickly. Magda watched intently as the child tugged the heavy door open and pulled on the giant’s shirt to get his attention. “Niko? Auntie says can you tell the housekeeper I would like tea and scones in the library please?”

Magda smiled. “Brave and polite. A good combination. So far, the old man has chosen well.”

Niko looked down at the little girl, a scowl on his scarred face. “My master said I was to protect you. I cannot do that if I have to be chasing after the housekeeper.”

“But I’m hungry” Miry said with a sigh, staring straight into his one good eye. “Can’t you PLEASE ask the housekeeper for me? Please?”

The giant cocked his head to one side, staring down at the child intently, then smiled a crooked smile, his stained and broken teeth showing through his dry lips. That smile had terrified the housemaids and other servants since he first came into the house but only seemed to evoke a grin from the child. He bobbed his head in assent, gently reaching out to pat the girl on the head. “Very well, little miss. But you and Magda don’t leave this room until I get back. Understand?”

“We won’t” Miry promised solemnly. She turned and carefully closed the door behind her, waiting until she heard his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall before she returned to the sofa. “Auntie’ Why do you call the master of the house the old man?”

“Well, I suppose because he is an old man ” Magda began thoughtfully. “I know for a fact he refers to me as the old woman - when he remembers me at all. We known each other all our lives. Vlad was old even when he was young, old in years but wise in the ways of our kind and strong as any warrior I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. What is coming up the drive, however, is something else again.”

“Who is it?” 

Magda patted the cushion beside her. “She is the old man's step sister - a creature fobbed off on HIS father by his stepmother and raised to believer herself to be better than those around her. Which, of course, she is not”

Miry's eyes grew wide. "But WHY isn't she, Auntie? Why is she so bad?"

Magda settled into the sofa with a sigh. "He will be very angry if I tell you but... Once upon a time this terrible woman had three lovely little daughters, all rosy cheeks, bright golden hair and shining eyes. And one by one, as they reached the age I suspect you are now, they disappeared into the mists never to be seen again."

"But that's horrible!" Miry exclaimed. "Is she dark because she's so unhappy about their loss?"

"No child" Magda said solemnly. "She dark because she is the REASON they are lost. She gave them up as a sacrifice, probably with her own hand, and Vlad now fears that any little girl child she puts her hands on will suffer the same fate."

"Even me?"

"Especially you."

Miry shivered, suddenly afraid of this place that had seemed so safe and secure. “Will she try to make me disappear too?” she asked in a small voice.

Magda looked down at the child beside her, sad that she had frightened the little girl but immensely satisfied that the child wasn’t hysterically weeping and screaming as other children might. “Not if the old man can help it. And knowing Vlad – and especially that strapping son of his – I think we can be sure nothing like that will happen. Now, show me what types of books you are interested in. I’m sure we’ll need to work on lessons for you so that you can make the best use of this lovely library but first – let’s see what you most would like to know about.”

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation and a moment later the hulking form of Niko came through, balancing a tray of tea and crumpets in his large hands. He blinked, surprised to see Magda without her veil, then carefully placed the tray on the table in front of his grandmother and started to leave. 

“Oh No, please won’t you stay and eat with us?” Miry asked, looking up at the giant with a smile. “I certainly can’t eat all of this – can you Auntie?”

“No child, I most certainly cannot. Sit boy – you can do your duty to your master just as easily from in here as standing by the door.”

Niko frowned, slightly confused but finally sat cross legged on the floor with his back to the wall so that he could watch both the door and the windows as he gingerly balanced a delicate cup and plate on his lap. “My thanks, little miss.”

Miry smiled, returning her attentions to the book she had been showing the old woman.


	13. The arrival of evil

Vlad watched intently as the dark shadows parted, revealing the black coach and horses approaching his home. “Trust Helena to put on a show for mortal eyes. Trotting out her “grief” like a costume on the stage of reality. Well, this stops right now.” He took a stance in the road, waiting for the old woman’s barriers to spring up. The shining walls of power sprang up before the horses were close enough to smell, forcing the coachman to pull up abruptly. From inside a shrill voice demanded to know why they had stopped.

"You're on my property" Vlad intoned, staring into the coach. "And without my permission. So unless you are just passing by I suggest you turn around and go back to that charnel house you call a home and bother me no more.'

The coach door opened and a woman descended, walking up to the lines of power separating her from the old man. To the mortals of the house, she was elegant and beautiful, just out of the first bloom of youth but with an air of grace and confidence that made her a goddess. To the old man, who could see beyond her veil, she was anything but beautiful. Her face showed all the ravages of time and her hedonistic lifestyle, with blood-shot eyes and wrinkles so deep they could be mistaken for scars Whatever beauty Helena had once had - it was long gone.

"Dear brother" she purred, stopping before the barrier. "I just wanted to apologize personally for my son's foolish act of reprisal..."

"Damien already told me he has handled that little situation. Now, tell me why you really came. Did your spy tell you what my son and his guardian found in that alleyway? Because if he did - then you know we have nothing further to discuss."

Helena glared at her half-brother, muttering curses under her breath. "You can not believe I will just walk away from what might be the last chance our people have of opening that gate! The child must stand before the creatures and turn the key!"

"Like your daughters did? That didn't go so well for them, did it?" Vlad smiled thinly. "The child is under my protection. If we see you or any of your minions anywhere near here - there will be one less representative of the old houses at the next conclave"

"You would not dare!" she sputtered.

"Oh but I would. Or have you forgotten what happened to House Stormer when their sons dared to try to take my son from me? I believe it was described as a forest of corpses - all impaled on white ash stakes. If I would do that to a family that once housed me - what do you think I would do to a family who tries to steal from me?" He eyes were cold and cruel as he stared at his half-sister, pushing the memories of that slaughter past her mind's defenses and lodging them where they would do the most good - it that part of the brain that would come alive when she slept.

Helena turned pale, staggering back to her coach. "This is not the end of this!" she hissed, clambering aboard and signaling for the coachman to take them back down the road.

"Oh - I think it is" Vlad chuckled darkly. "I truly think it is."


End file.
